Prelude to Eternity
by LadyHeatherlly
Summary: A bad temper? An overprotective father? Alas, those are only the beginning of the challenges Sir Gwaine will have to face if he hopes to win the hand of the woman he loves.
1. Challenge

**Title:** Prelude to Eternity  
**Category:** Het (Canon AU)  
**Characters/Pairings:** Gwaine/Lady Vivian  
**Rating/Warnings:** M  
**Summary:** A bad temper? An overprotective father? Alas, those are only the beginning of the challenges Sir Gwaine will have to face if he hopes to win the hand of the woman he loves.

**Author's Note:** This story was written for The Chronicles of Camelot challenge. Set sometime following Series 4, with no connection to Series 5.

* * *

**Challenge**

* * *

"Not that I don't sympathize, Gwaine, but murder might not be the best solution here."

"What?" I frown, glancing up from the sword I'm sharpening to find Percival looking down at me with a knowing grin.

"Well, Arthur would understand the impulse. No doubt about that. But I don't think he'd be too keen on going to war with Olaf either."

"Vivian?" Hesitating, I cast a quick look around the crowded armory. No… definitely not the time for jokes. If there's one thing I've learned since coming to Camelot, it's that rumors have a way of spreading like fire in a hayloft. "Trust me," I tell him with perfect sincerity. "I have no intention of killing her."

"Of course not," Percival agrees as he sits down beside me. "But you can't tell me the thought hasn't crossed your mind."

"Not for a second." Stuffing a gag into that pretty, yet exceptionally unpleasant mouth of hers wouldn't kill her, right? No need to mention that particular fantasy then... or the one about the spanking either.

"Right. What about last night when she called you a big, dumb oaf?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "I think she was talking to you."

"Maybe," Percival says with a shrug. "Hard to tell the difference when she insults everyone that crosses her path. You wouldn't believe what I heard her saying to Merlin this morning."

"Sure I would. I'm the one who's spent the last week with her, you know. Not much would surprise me at this point."

"Come to that, why would you volunteer to serve as her escort in the first place? She's bleeding intolerable, and that's on a good day. No reason for it either, at least none that I can see. Rich, titled, beautiful... what's someone like her have to be so miserable about?"

"There you have it."

Percival blinks in confusion. "What?"

I lean down to retrieve a flask from my boot, taking a long drink before handing it off to him. "You want to know why I'm willingly subjecting myself to her company, right? Well, there you have it. Something isn't right with her, and I'm not giving up until I figure out what it is."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a nosy bastard," I tell him with a careless grin. "What other reason could there be?"

* * *

"Pheasant?" I ask my dinner companion with exaggerated politeness, offering her a succulent portion of the impeccably roasted bird.

"I don't like pheasant," she tells me in a haughty voice.

_Patience, Gwaine,_ I remind myself, as I've had to do dozens of times over the past week. _You'll wear her down yet._

"Fair enough," I say with a shrug. "How about some spiced apples then?"

"I don't like apples."

Impossible. I shake my head with a rueful smile. "Everyone likes apples."

"Maybe around here they do," Vivian says, letting out a delicate snort. "But some of us are accustomed to proper delicacies, not peasant fare."

Suppressing a heavy sigh, I try again. "Then tell me what you'd like, dear lady. Chicken? Strawberry tarts? How about some of the bread? Fine stuff it is, especially with some honey butter to top it off."

"I'm not hungry," she insists.

"You said the same thing at breakfast," I argue, wondering if the woman intends to starve herself to death out of sheer spite. "Then again at midday meal. You've got to be famished by now – why don't you just eat something?"

Vivian shoots me a contemptuous look. "If I do, will you shut up?"

It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. I relax, giving her a benign smile. "Yes. For the time being."

"How long do we have to stay here anyway?" she inquires after a moment as she nibbles delicately on a slice of cheese. When I don't answer right away, she snaps her fingers in front of my face. "_ Well?!_ I asked you a question!"

Unable to help myself, I shoot her a mocking grin. "I thought you didn't want me to talk."

Patience… yeah, I'm finding that more difficult than usual tonight.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she says, her pretty features twisting into a scowl. "But nevermind. I'm going to my room."

"You can't leave yet. Night's just getting started."

Vivian sniffs as she rises to her feet. "I can do as I please."

"Of course you can," I agree. "But it's the queen's birthday – don't you want to stay for the celebrations? I know it's hard to believe, but it might not be so bad. Hell, maybe you'd even have a good time."

"What did I tell you about using that crude language around me?" she retorts, doing her best to look affronted. "No, I do _not_ want to stay. I have better things to do than sit around listening to one of Arthur's boring speeches. Nor do I have any interest in subjecting myself to whatever cheap spectacles pass for entertainment around here. Now show me to my room."

Biting back a sharp retort, I escort her from the hall, shooting Arthur an apologetic look on our way out. The king responds with a shrug, clearly relieved that Vivian is under my charge rather than his. Indeed, I've shielded everyone from the brunt of her temper over the past week… I'm damned sure going to use their underlying gratitude to my advantage in the future.

"Can you walk a little slower, please?" Vivian demands in a shrill voice. "Or do you expect me to run to keep up with you?"

Although I'm walking at a perfectly normal pace, I make an effort to slow my footsteps. "Better?"

"No, now you're going _too_ slow. I'd like to reach my chamber before next year, you know."

Without warning, something inside me snaps. "Maybe you should continue on by yourself then," I tell her through gritted teeth.

"Pardon me?"

Oh, Arthur's going to kill me, but I don't care anymore. The words just come spilling out… not a damn thing I can do to stop them even if I wanted to. "Look," I say, my voice soft and scathing. "I get that you're determined to be a pain in the ass. Hell if I know why, but you're not the only one who has better things to do tonight. I'm going back to the celebrations."

She stares at me in shock. "How dare you speak to me that way?"

I search for a proper response, but it's a useless effort – each one I come up with is worse than the last.

"You just wait until Arthur hears about this," she sneers, glaring at me with daggers in her eyes. "No, I take that back – that softhearted fool won't do a thing about it. I'll tell my father! Yes, and trust me, Sir Gwaine, he'll have your head for this, he'll…"

But she trails off as I take her hand and raise it to my lips. She's too taken aback to jerk it away as I press a lingering kiss to the backs of her fingers.

"My lady," I purr, giving her my best charming smile. "Whatever punishment your father could mete out will surely be next to nothing compared with the misery of having to put up with you."

Without another word, I turn on my heel and stalk away.

* * *

The first drink is easy. Impotent fury drives me to down it in several large gulps, then to go for a second without hesitation. This one is consumed more slowly as I stop several times to glower at the empty chair beside me.

By the third, I'm not even angry anymore, just strangely let down. Why do I feel this way? I knew what I was getting myself into, right? Arthur, Merlin… hell, everyone warned me about Vivian's foul temper. Had I honestly believed that my natural charm would turn her into some sweet, pliable maiden by the end of it all?

Yes, of course I had. Modesty has never been one of my virtues.

"I'm an idiot," I mutter to myself, reaching for my cup again.

"Not sure whether to agree or disagree with you there."

I jump, sloshing ale down the front of my tunic as I turn to face Sir Leon. The other knight offers me a refill, flashing me an apologetic smile before he continues. "If this has to do with Lady Vivian, don't be too hard on yourself. You've been doing the best you can. No one could expect more than that. She's… well, I don't like to speak ill of a lady, but she's insufferable. Always has been."

I nod, grateful that it was Leon who overheard me rather than one of the others. Less chance of mockery this way, which I'm definitely not in the mood for just now. "Not sure why I bothered, to tell you the truth," I admit, though I cringe at the obvious disappointment in my voice.

"Because the odds were stacked against you."

"What?"

Leon chuckles, giving me an appraising look. "You like a challenge… the more impossible, the better. Like to play the hero, and you do your damnedest to see the best in everyone. Also, Lady Vivian happens to be exceptionally beautiful…"

"It's not about that," I interrupt, avoiding his eyes. Having been raised at court, Leon is usually too well mannered to speak so frankly, but give him enough alcohol and he has an unnerving way of getting right to the truth of the matter. It's a quality I usually appreciate; right now, it just makes me uncomfortable.

"Maybe not," he concedes. "But you've never been one to take defeat so hard. I don't think it would hurt to figure out what's different this time around."

I respond with a grunt. No doubt he's right, but I'd rather put it from my mind until I feel a bit more settled. Fortunately, Leon seems to sense this and doesn't press me further.

Rising to my feet, I attempt to steady myself as I glance around the hall. It's nearly empty now – the king and queen have long since retired, followed by the other knights, officials, and courtiers. Only the servants remain behind, their faces drawn with weariness as they scurry about cleaning up after the night's revelers. Despite myself, I can't help feeling guilty for prolonging their duties. Try as I might, I've never gotten used to being waited on.

"Off to bed?"

I nod at my companion. "Seems like a good idea. Think I've drank my weight in ale tonight."

"That makes two of us," Leon agrees. "Well, good luck with Lady Vivian. I know she's difficult to deal with, but at least she'll be leaving the day after tomorrow, right?"

After the week I've had, full of sulking, insults, and constant complaints, that reminder should give me a great deal of relief.

Strangely enough, it doesn't.

* * *

Vivian looks even lovelier than usual when I show up at her door the following morning. Her hair is loose, tumbling in a wild cascade of golden curls down her back, her rose colored gown accentuating the bloom of color in her cheeks and her rich brown eyes. She's so beautiful, in fact, that it takes me a moment to understand the reason for it. She hasn't made a special effort with her appearance. She's still furious, which has an odd way of highlighting her beauty rather than diminishing it. Even her thunderous scowl is oddly appealing, catching me off guard with the sudden impulse to kiss her until it melts away.

Of course, I don't do any such thing. I might be brave to the point of recklessness at times, but in this case, I rather like my genitals and don't fancy the idea of being parted from them anytime soon.

"Good morning," I say instead, forcing myself into a respectful bow. "Are you ready for your morning ride?"

She snorts. "Not really, though I suppose being dreadfully bored outside is better than being cooped up in here all day."

"Expect you're right about that."

Patience is easier to come by this morning, probably because I still feel guilty for snapping at her last night. Beyond that, I'm a touch hungover, too weary to think up any snide comebacks much less utter them aloud. I just want a quiet, pleasant ride, immediately followed by a healthy dose of Gaius' famous tonic and a long nap.

Naturally, this is nothing more than wishful thinking. Vivian keeps up a relentless stream of complaints during our walk to the stables, reaching new levels of viciousness in her sniping remarks. At first, I don't know what to make of it – while she's never been what I'd call pleasant, her griping has never been half so cruel. Is this about last night then? The new trace of bitterness in her voice makes it seem so… but she strikes me as someone who has been genuinely hurt. Yes, this is more than a simple case of injured pride.

I want to apologize. It no longer matters whether she deserved to be put in her place. I don't want her hurting over something I've done, can't be bothered to wonder why I'm so intensely uncomfortable with being the cause of her distress. I don't like it… I want to make it right somehow. But what do I say? Is there any explanation I can offer that she would accept?

Before I have too much time to dwell on the matter, we arrive at our destination.

"Don't touch me!" she hisses as I reach out with the intention of helping her mount. "I can manage by myself."

Taking in her tiny figure, her cumbersome skirts, then the height of the waiting mare, I give her a dubious look. "I don't think that's a good idea," I tell her, keeping my voice soft and gentle. "Here, just let me boost you up."

"Try it, and I'll scream," she snaps. "I don't want your filthy hands anywhere near me."

I glance at my freshly washed hands, letting out a heavy sigh. "Well then at least let me summon one of the other knights. I really don't think you should…"

But she's already gripping the saddle, attempting to heave herself up with a series of muttered curses and frustrated grunts. My instincts scream at me to assist her, to hell with whether she likes it or not. But before I have a chance, her foot slips out of the stirrup, catching the horse directly in the flank.

And then everything is a blur of motion overlaid by screams of terror. Vivian is clinging desperately to the saddle, her legs dangling over the side as the mare takes off at a headlong gallop. I see everything… I know what's about to happen… I feel like the breath has been sucked from my body as I rush across the courtyard in their wake. There's nothing I can do, no way to prevent the horrifying conclusion as the animal rears and throws off its offending burden. Her fragile body is hurled through the air like a ragdoll, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Well, it isn't a thud, exactly. There's the awful sound of flesh slamming into stone, of course, but also something else… an unfamiliar, much sharper noise that I don't have time to question as I let out a hoarse shout and rush to her side.

"Vivian?" _Oh shit._ "Vivian?!"

No doubt she'd scold me for not using her proper title if she were conscious. I don't give a damn about propriety, however, can't concern myself over the liberties I'm taking as I run my hands over her limp body. There's a pulse, yes, strong and steady… I can feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest. A few bumps and scrapes… nothing to worry about there. My biggest concern is the cut on her forehead, from which a thin trickle of blood is seeping into her hair.

Why was I so angry with her last night? I can hardly remember now. At the moment, there's nothing I wouldn't give to have her open her eyes, even just to scowl at me and offer up one of her tart insults.

"Vivian? Can you hear me?"

When a few more attempts to rouse her have no effect, I see no other choice. Scooping her into my arms, unnerved by how light and fragile she feels, I race up the palace steps, tear through the corridors, and then kick open the door to the physician's quarters. I hear voices along the way, pick up on my name being called in tones of obvious concern, but it barely registers… the only thought in my mind, drumming over and over like a heartbeat, is _ I can't let her die. I can't let her die._

Both Gaius and Merlin are present when I burst into the chamber. The latter seems alarmed by the abrupt entrance, but the former has clearly had a lot of experience with frantic intrusions. With a curt nod, he gestures toward the narrow bed; I carefully lower Vivian to rest upon the pillows and then take a step back, fighting to control my harsh panting long enough to explain what happened.

Soon enough, I am soothed by the physician's placid bedside manner, breathing a sigh of relief when the prognosis is given.

"She'll have a nasty headache when she wakes up, but she's in no danger. Merlin can take over from here – I have a couple of urgent cases I must see to in the lower town."

After Gaius leaves, Merlin tends to Vivian's scrapes and abrasions, humming quietly to himself as he works. Now that my fears have been put to rest, I watch my friend with genuine interest. I rarely have the chance to see him at work this way. Whenever I do, I can't help thinking his talents are wasted on scrubbing floors and polishing armor. His hands are steady and sure, long, graceful fingers expertly spreading pungent smelling ointment over the wounds.

It isn't until he reaches the hem of Vivian's tattered skirt that he hesitates, awkwardly clearing his throat before speaking. "I-ah… I need to take this off. Check the rest of her injuries, you know. She should be awake in a few hours though if you want to come back."

Clearly my friend is trying to get rid of me. What's more surprising, however, is how reluctant I am to leave Vivian's side. Why? Gave me a scare, she did. That's all. It would've been terrible for her to have gotten herself killed while under my charge… Arthur would've never forgiven me, and my own guilt doesn't bear thinking. Of course I want to stay, just to make sure she's all right.

"Think I'll stick around," I tell Merlin, keeping my voice casual. "Just go on with what you're doing – nothing I haven't seen before."

Merlin's eyes grow wide. "You mean you and Lady Vivian…?"

"No! No, of course not. Just talking about women in general."

"Right," Merlin says, shifting uncomfortably. "Well, could you at least turn around?"

Smirking to myself, I present him with my back. "Better?"

"Yes. Now stay that way until I'm finished. This won't take long."

As soon as I hear the sound of ripping fabric, I'm stunned by the onslaught of visuals that flood through my mind, taken aback by my body's instant reaction. A solid week of pretending I'm not attracted to the woman, gone in an instant. Suddenly, it's _ all_ I can think about… sweet, lush breasts, slender waist, silky thighs… the pleasure that lies between them. Temperamental or not, Vivian is still a breathtaking beauty, I tell myself in sudden desperation. A man can hardly help… but it doesn't mean…

And then my jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a sharp intake of breath. It's a sound of pure shock, one I respond to by instinct as I spin around, my eyes darting from Merlin's bewildered expression to the woman lying half naked on the bed.

"What the _hell_ is that?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.


	2. Revelation

**Chapter 2: Revelation**

* * *

"I think it's a chastity belt," Merlin says quietly.

Dumbstruck, I stare at him for a moment before my eyes are drawn back to the peculiar device. It's lovely in a way – pure, shining silver, etched with fine scrollwork. But I can't ignore what it is either. A prison. I'd heard of such things, of course, but I'd always taken it as myth… too absurd to be real.

"What the hell?" I mutter to myself.

"Olaf."

"What?" I'm too distracted – too _disturbed_ – to make the obvious connection.

"Olaf," Merlin repeats as he leans over to examine it more closely. "Her father. He's always been a bit… overprotective, to say the least. I guess this is easier for him than chasing people around with knives."

My mouth drops open. "You must be joking."

"Nope. He challenged Arthur to mortal combat when he caught them together. Nearly killed him, seeing as Arthur was too besotted to defend himself."

"I knew about the love spell," I say, shaking my head in disbelief. "But not the rest of it."

"Yeah," Merlin says with a shrug. "When he found them, they were kissing, and…"

"_Kissing?!_ Is that all?"

Merlin nods.

"And that was worth a fight to the death?"

"Apparently so."

I gaze down at Vivian's unconscious face, seeing nothing of the ridiculously ill tempered woman I've come to know. She suddenly seems innocent, fragile, the victim of an overbearing father who might not even be quite sane. Why is she so miserable all the time? That's the question I've asked myself a hundred times over the past week… the curiosity that led to me volunteering to be her escort in the first place.

Well, it seems I have my answer. Put restraints on my jolly bits, and I'd be out of sorts, too.

"There's no lock," Merlin observes, and I lean over to see that he's right. "Strange. How do you think she…?"

"Relieves herself?" I finish for him, and he jerks his head in awkward acknowledgment. "Hell if I know. Maybe you should ask one of her servants. Hell, ask the lady herself when she wakes up."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

He gives me an exaggerated version of his 'Gwaine, are you mad?' stare. "That would be inappropriate, not to mention horribly embarrassing."

"Yes, and standing here gawking at her while she's half naked is the essence of propriety." I flash him a lopsided grin, which grows wider as he shakes his head in exasperation. "When will she wake up?"

"Soon, I think. The bump on her head isn't nearly as bad as it looks."

I nod, relieved by the assessment. Granted, the accident was hardly my fault, but I can't help feeling guilty. I'd spoken harshly to her the night before and hadn't had a chance to apologize. Not that she hadn't deserved it, but… hell, I'm so mixed up that I don't know how I'm feeling at the moment, much less what I'm supposed to do about it.

How much easier it would've been if I hadn't let my curiosity get the better of me. Everyone else just assumes she has a nasty temper and leaves it at that, doing their best to stay out of her way as much as possible. But not me. No, I had to know the reason for it. I had to subject myself to a bloody week of her company, fighting the urge to strangle her more often than not.

Unfortunately though, that isn't the problem. If I truly found her intolerable, I could patch her up and send her back to her father, breathe a sigh of relief to have it over and done with. But it isn't that simple anymore, is it? Somewhere along the way, I've come to care about her. Why? Beats the hell out of me. But not knowing the reason for it doesn't make it any less true.

"What's wrong?"

I blink, lifting my eyes to meet Merlin's inquisitive stare. "What do you mean?"

"The way you were just looking at her…"

I'm given a reprieve as Vivian begins to stir, letting out a soft, pained moan as she opens her eyes. She really is beautiful, with her delicate features and a wealth of golden curls surrounding her like a halo. It's a facade, of course – I'm not surprised in the least when those pretty pink lips of hers curl into a familiar sneer.

"What are you doing?" she demands in a shrill voice. "How dare you…?!" but then she trails off, wincing as she presses her hand to the bump on her forehead.

"My lady…"

"What happened?" she asks us, sounding much more subdued. It's a nice change – when she isn't busy snarling at everyone around her, her voice is actually quite lovely.

"You had a little accident," Merlin tells her, giving her a cautious smile. "But you're going to be okay."

I watch closely as the memory comes back to her. Her eyes harden as she gives me an accusing look, but not before I catch a glimpse of something else entirely. Momentary embarrassment. A flash of shame. No, this lady isn't as heartless as she appears to be.

Gingerly, she sits up, startling both myself and Merlin with a horrified screech as she snatches the blanket and pulls it over herself. But it's too late. She knows what we've seen, realizes she can't excuse it away or pretend it didn't happen. Expecting some blistering rant about ill manners or perversion, I'm shocked by what happens next.

She bursts into tears.

"My lady," Merlin says after a moment, hesitating before he reaches out to touch her shoulder. "It's all right. Please don't cry."

She throws his hand off, giving him a menacing glare that loses much of its effect being as her face is splotchy and wet with tears. "Get out," she manages between sobs. "Just… get out."

At first, I assume she's speaking to us both. I turn to follow my friend, but then I'm stopped short by a shaky whisper.

"Not you, Gwaine."

In a flash, I realize several important things. She used my name. Just my name, not preceded by my title, which she has always spoken in a mocking fashion. She wants me to stay. Not Merlin, the man who treated her injuries, but me. For reasons I can't even begin to fathom, I'm the one who has her trust.

And that changes everything.

With a curt nod, I lower myself into a chair beside the bed. We sit in silence for several minutes, and then finally, she speaks, her voice soft and sullen.

"You weren't supposed to know. Nobody was."

"And now that I do?"

She sniffs, though it's only a pale imitation of her former haughty self. "I want you to promise that you'll never tell another soul… that you'll make sure your friend doesn't either. I want you to tell me that you're not in the least bit curious. That you'll put it from your mind and never speak of it again. But I suppose that's too much to hope for, isn't it?"

I want to put her at ease, but I have to be honest. "I can give you the first two," I say quietly. "Without hesitation. I have no intention of telling anyone, and Merlin will keep it to himself whether I ask him to or not. But I'm not so sure about the rest."

"I was afraid of that." She stares down at her hands for a moment, as if she's working up the courage to meet my curious stare. "Well, there really isn't anything to tell."

"I find that hard to believe."

She rolls her eyes at me, and I'm strangely relieved to see a trace of stubbornness return to her features. "Fine, I'll tell you," she says, putting as much irritation into her voice as she can manage. "But rest assured that I'm only trying to prevent you from coming up with your own version of the truth, which would no doubt be appalling."

"No doubt," I agree, risking a cautious grin. "I was just imagining some strange affliction which makes you…"

"Gwaine?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"As you say, my lady." I relax in my chair, feigning perfect obedience as I wait for her to speak.

"My father has always been overprotective," she starts, staring at the wall behind me. "When I was younger, he kept any potential suitors away with threats, weaponry if necessary. That was bad enough, but it got a lot worse after our visit to Camelot a few years ago. I assume you know about the enchantment?"

"Of course."

"Of course," she echoes with a grimace. "I'm sure everyone does. Well, it was easy enough to break it. But my father was horrified by what happened. He said it showed him how easily the unthinkable could happen, no matter how vigilant he might be. That was when he spoke to our Court Sorcerer – magic isn't forbidden in our kingdom like it is here in Camelot, you know. Anyway, this was his solution."

"You could not refuse?"

I can see the bitterness in her eyes when she responds, "I was given no choice in the matter. Just woke up one morning, and there it was."

"And you've been wearing it ever since?"

"Yes… well, not always."

Curious, I lean forward in my chair. "What do you mean?"

She snorts. "Don't get excited. I can remove it for… practical reasons. All it takes is a single word. But it doesn't work if there's a man within ten paces of me."

"But what if you remove it first, and then…?"

She shakes her head. "If a man comes too close, it'll just reappear."

Deeply disturbed, I think on that for a moment. "And how long does your father expect to keep you imprisoned?" I finally ask her. "You're a woman grown. Aren't you capable of deciding what's best for yourself?"

"Not in his eyes," she says quietly. "He'll keep me this way forever if he can get away with it."

"Nonsense. He has no right…"

"Gwaine, my father is King. Who is there to stop him?"

"Maybe Arthur could speak with him," I suggest. "They are of the same rank, after all. Friends. Allies."

She raises a delicate eyebrow at me. "Arthur? Do you really think that's a good idea, considering what happened between us before?"

"Right. Maybe not. Someone else then? If someone could just make him see how ridiculous…"

"Trust me, Gwaine, he's not going to change his mind. Besides, it wouldn't make a difference. There's only one way to break the enchantment, and he doesn't have that power. Nobody does."

"But you know how to do it." I'm surprised to find myself clutching her hands in mine, shocked that she doesn't pull away. "Tell me. Maybe there's some way I can help you."

Vivian shakes her head vehemently. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I find you… tolerable." She hesitates, looking sheepish before she continues in a rush. "Don't get me wrong – you're ill mannered and crass, you drink too much, and you should _really_ wear something other than that dreadful chain mail sometimes, especially at formal occasions. But I suppose you could be worse."

Taken aback by her confession, it takes me a moment to recover. "So you don't want to tell me how to break the spell because you… don't completely hate me? What's that got to do with it?"

She gives me a sad smile. "Everything."

* * *

Needless to say, my curiosity isn't satisfied by the conversation. On the contrary, my entire existence is now reduced to a single unanswered question. I try to keep myself occupied for the rest of the day – sparring practice, a few hours at the tavern, that sort of thing. But my usual distractions aren't working, and I'm eventually forced to admit defeat.

Why the bloody hell is this bothering me so much? I can't even ask myself that anymore without feeling like an idiot. Might as well face the truth – I have feelings for the woman, and I'm starting to believe that might be reciprocated. Hell, a grudging compliment from her would be like a heartfelt declaration of love from anyone else, wouldn't it? Maybe I'm flattering myself here, but… no, there's definitely something between us.

It's not just about that though. She needs my help. I'm betting she'd rather throw herself off a cliff than admit it, but she does. After all, if I don't do something to get her out of this mess, who will?

I'm so caught up in the dilemma that I miss the evening meal, which is apparently so unusual that Merlin seeks me out to make sure I'm all right. Figuring I'm still technically keeping my word since he already knows about the chastity belt, I tell him the rest of what I know, hoping he might be able to offer some solution that hasn't occurred to me. He's as clueless as I am; I'm pretty discouraged until he mentions Gaius. Of course! I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner.

"Where is he now?" I ask him, embarrassed at how eager I sound.

"Still out on his evening rounds. We can probably catch him before he gets back to the chamber."

"She's still there then?"

Merlin scowls in distaste. "Yeah. Gaius wants her to stay the night, just to be on the safe side. Safe for whom, I'm not sure. She'll probably strangle us in our sleep."

"Oh come on, she's not _that_ bad."

"If you say so. Oh, there he is! Hey Gaius, wait up!"

But before he can go running off, I catch him by the arm. "Wait a second. We can ask him, but don't tell him that it's Vivian, all right?"

He frowns. "Why not?"

"Not a big deal. I just told her we wouldn't tell anyone else, that's all."

"But… it's _Gaius._ We can trust him. And besides, he's going to figure it out sooner or later anyway."

I do my best to appear unaffected, though I'm not sure how convincing it is. "Maybe so, and that's fine," I tell him. "As long as I'm not breaking my word, you know."

Merlin stops in his tracks, his eyes growing wide. "Wait a minute… you _like_ her! That's what it is, isn't it?"

Seeing no point in denying it, I shrug. "So what if I do?"

"You've got to be kidding me." He's laughing now, which is more annoying than I would've expected it to be. _"Why?"_

"Why not?"

He sputters, fighting to control his mirth. "She's… she's _intolerable!_ All she ever does is order you around and insult you. Are you telling me you actually _like_ that sort of thing?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"What?! Trust me, I have _no_ interest in Lady Vivian."

"Wasn't talking about her."

"I… that's different. I'm Arthur's servant. Not like I have a choice in the matter."

"If you say so," I tell him mildly, smirking at his back as he hurries forward to meet Gaius.

* * *

With Vivian still resting in the physician's quarters, I bring Merlin and Gaius to my own room to speak in private. Good plan – this situation definitely calls for a drink, and I have a few unopened bottles of the finest brew to be found in Camelot. I fill the tankards and pass them around, then sink into my chair, wondering how in the hell I'm supposed to broach the subject without explaining my reason for asking.

"What do you know about chastity belts?" Merlin suddenly blurts out, saving me the trouble.

Gaius looks surprised, which of course, is to be expected. "I know a fair amount, I suppose," he says in a thoughtful voice. "Why do you ask?"

"We were just curious, that's all."

The older man isn't buying it, raising one eyebrow in a way that makes me feel like a naughty child even though it isn't directed at me. "Merlin…"

"Met her at the tavern," I cut in hastily. "Just a woman I keep company with sometimes."

It's a poor excuse, but seems to work. Gaius lets out a chuckle, shaking his head as he takes a sip of ale. "Well, under those circumstances, a chastity belt seems like a smart idea."

These kind of comments used to be funny, but more often than not these days, I find them insulting. Being the butt of the joke gets old after a while, and anyway, much of what everyone assumes about me isn't even true. Yeah, I enjoy spending a little time at the tavern. Certainly don't mind female company, especially when that company is both beautiful and intelligent. But that doesn't mean I'm some drunken scoundrel intent on ravishing every woman who crosses my path. I've long since put those days behind me.

Of course, I keep these thoughts to myself.

"I… I don't think she's wearing it by choice," Merlin says, shifting awkwardly in his chair. "Gwaine says it seems to be magic – no key or anything. She can take it off when she needs to, just not if there's a man nearby."

Gaius frowns. "I've heard about such things, but I'd need to take a look to be sure."

"Not possible," I tell him. "It isn't… she just doesn't want anyone to know about it, that's all. Embarrassed, you know."

Leaning back in his chair, Gaius studies us for a moment before he starts to speak. "Unusual, to be sure. These things were much more common in the old days. Back then, they were intended to be a test."

"A test?" Merlin echoes, looking as baffled as I feel. "What do you mean?"

"Chastity belts allowed would-be suitors to prove themselves worthy of the lady in question," Gaius explains. "The spell would be performed with a simple incantation, modified to include specific quests. Usually one or two, but sometimes more depending on her station. If any man who took up the challenge triumphed over all the obstacles he was given, the enchantment would be broken and he'd be free to claim the lady as his own."

"Sounds like a lot of work," Merlin grumbles, but I'm intrigued.

"What kind of quests?"

"Anything you can imagine. But I wouldn't get too excited, Gwaine. If this is indeed what's going on with your… friend, these quests have always had a reputation for being extremely dangerous. I remember reading one particularly gruesome account where a princess required her suitors to face down a fully grown dragon. More than a hundred men fell before the spell was broken."

"Who managed it?" Even Merlin can't help his curiosity now.

"The dragon was defeated by a man called Cerdic… Cerdic Pendragon." Gaius pauses, smiling at us both. "And now you know how that noble dynasty received its name."


	3. Decision

**Chapter 3: Decision**

* * *

She's leaving today.

Quietly, I wait beside Arthur and my fellow knights, doing my best to appear nonchalant as King Olaf rides into the courtyard. I haven't seen Vivian since our conversation yesterday, and I'm swiftly running out of time. Damn it. What is she thinking now? Would she have told me the truth if I'd pushed the issue? But then again, I already know what's going on, don't I?

As soon as Gaius told Merlin and me about the history of chastity belts, everything had clicked into place. The enchantment can only be removed through a series of quests. Right. That explains Vivian's reluctance to share any details. Either the quests are extremely dangerous and she's worried about my safety… or she assumes I wouldn't accept the challenge in the first place.

Probably the latter. Rejection stings, even if it's as reasonable as, 'No, I'd rather not have my genitals chewed off by a Wilddeoren just to have a crack at yours.'

Unable to help myself, I chuckle at the thought, then wince as Elyan elbows me in the side. "You've been a knight for more than three years," he hisses under his breath. "Haven't you learned how to control yourself by now?"

I manage not to smack him, which in my opinion, proves I'm capable of a great deal of self-restraint. Oh, I know what everyone thinks about the knighthood. We're supposed to be comrades in arms, closer than brothers and all that stuff. But Elyan? Try as I might, I just can't bring myself to like him. As a commoner, I guess he feels the need to prove himself. But Percival is a commoner, too, and he's never been one to put on airs the way Elyan does.

"Olaf," Arthur says grandly, stepping forward to embrace the older king. "I trust you had a good journey?"

"We did, thank you."

"Nonetheless, I'm sure you'd like to rest and refresh yourselves before continuing on your way. Are you sure you wouldn't like to accept our hospitality for the night?"

Olaf shakes his head as he scans the small crowd. "I appreciate the offer, but as I mentioned in my last missive, I must return to my own kingdom without delay. Just a quick meal, perhaps, and… where is my daughter? I'm surprised she isn't here to greet me."

"Lady Vivian is resting," Arthur says, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "She had a little accident yesterday, but my physician assures me that…"

"Injured?! I demand to see her immediately!"

"Sire, it's really not…"

"_Now!_"

Arthur does his best to hide an exasperated sigh. "Gwaine, would you be kind enough to show King Olaf to Lady Vivian's chamber?"

"Of course, sire."

The man overreacts to a comical degree, fussing over a few bumps and scrapes as if they're mortal wounds. Vivian does her best to calm him down, but her efforts are in vain – he insists they will remain in Camelot for at least several days due to the delicate state of her health. I can see that she's furious, but I can't be all that sympathetic. Not when this is just the kind of opportunity I was hoping for.

I remain behind when Percival comes to show Olaf to his quarters. The older man offers no objection, though I suppose it's hardly necessary to do so when his daughter's virtue is locked up more securely than the royal vaults. Vivian seems fully recovered – despite her father's insistence that she needs rest, she rises to pace the confines of the chamber, her expression reminding me of a caged animal desperate for escape.

Of course, that's exactly what she is. And I am more determined than ever to help her find one.

"Well?!" she demands after a moment, her voice shrill and peevish. But her ill temper has no effect on me now. I see the truth behind it – the suffocating existence she's forced to endure, along with a great deal of embarrassment over the excessive coddling I've just witnessed.

"Well what?" I reply, suppressing a smile.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Probably." I shrug, easing myself into the closest chair. "But unlike some of my companions, sucking up to royalty isn't exactly my favorite pastime."

She almost smiles at that. "Yes, I suppose Sir Elyan has that well covered."

I burst out laughing, which to my amazement, is soon joined by the sound of her merry giggles. She's a different woman in that moment… cheeks pink, dark eyes sparkling, not a trace of irritation to be found in her lovely features. Seems a shame to put an end to it, to say the things which will no doubt put her on guard all over again. But I see no other choice – I can't let this one go.

"My lady," I start carefully. "I wanted to speak with you about yesterday. Your secret…"

The smile freezes on her face, soon replaced by a defensive scowl. "There's nothing more to be said."

"I think there is," I murmur, keeping my voice soft and gentle. "I think you're just scared to tell me."

She looks deeply offended, which is exactly what I was hoping for. "I'm not afraid! I just…"

"If you're not, then prove it. What could be stopping you other than fear?"

"There's no point in telling you, Gwaine." She makes a show of anger in response to my challenge, but it's weak, not convincing in the least. The emotions in her eyes speak much more loudly than the sneer on her lips, and what I see there is something vulnerable and hopeless. "Why don't you just leave?"

"Because I don't want to," I tell her bluntly. And then I hesitate before saying, "And I don't think you want me to either."

She lets out a delicate snort as she settles herself into the chair across from me. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Why not? I happen to be exceptionally good at it."

Her lips twitch as she desperately tries to suppress her amusement. "I could order you out. Call for the guards if need be. Or shall I summon my father? One word from me, and you'd be spending the night in the dungeons."

"You won't do that," I say, calling her bluff.

"Oh, really? And how can you be so sure?"

"Because given a choice between my company or your father's, I think it's obvious which you'd prefer."

The flurry of emotions that play across her features are as swift as they are unexpected. I know I'm right even when she protests, scolding me about the reverence that should be accorded to someone of such a high station and the dire consequences I'd be facing if King Olaf ever heard me speaking of him with such disrespect. I can't bring myself to give a damn – I've always preferred truth to pretense, and never more than I do at this moment.

"I don't know what kind of king he is," I tell her without a trace of apology in my voice. "But as a father, he's an idiot."

"You dare…?!"

"Yes, Vivian, I most certainly do. You might be a right pain in the ass sometimes, but you're also intelligent, capable, headstrong – I mean that in a good way, mind you. To keep you locked up like some feeble-minded child who can't be trusted to know what's best for herself? He doesn't understand the first thing about you. And that is why I say he's an idiot."

Falling back on her defenses, crumbling though they might be, Vivian eventually says, "You will address me by my proper title."

I smile at that. "No," I say emphatically. "I will not."

"Why do you find it necessary to treat me with such disrespect?"

"My intentions are quite the opposite, I assure you."

She frowns at me. "How so?"

"Because I speak to you as a person, not as a title. I speak to you as much more than the world – your father in particular – seems to notice. Lady Vivian is rich, titled, beautiful. That is why you command so much privilege, is it not? But it's also the bane of your existence when that's all anyone can see."

And with that, I know the battle is over. She hides nothing now, seeming to wilt in her chair as her expression transforms into one of abject desolation. "I hate it," she whispers brokenly. "There's nothing I can do, no way to change my circumstances. Only lifting the enchantment could do that, and as I've told you, that is impossible."

I lean forward, taking her hands in mine. "How do you know, when you won't even tell me…?"

"There's no point," she says, though with far less conviction this time.

"But how can you be so sure?" The more hopeless she seems, the more determined I am to change things for the better. "Maybe I can help you."

"You can't."

"How do you know?"

"Because others have tried. Tried and failed, sometimes with disastrous consequences. Please, Gwaine… even if you were willing to try, which I can't imagine why you would be, I can't go through that again. I just can't."

And then suddenly, everything clicks into place. "This is why you act the way you do, isn't it?"

"Yes," she whispers, clearly seeing no point in denying the obvious.

"You push everyone away because you don't want to see them hurt if they get too close."

Avoiding my eyes, she nods.

"And you don't want to be hurt yourself, when it seems like the only possibility is failure."

I don't want to keep pushing the issue. There are tears streaming down her face now, and all I want to do is shut my mouth, then take her in my arms and comfort her. But that wouldn't be enough, wouldn't do a damn thing to change her fate. I have no choice but to act when she's at her most vulnerable – this might be the only time I'll ever be able to discover the truth. If I wait until she's stronger, until her defenses are back in place, it'll be too late.

She knows this as well as I do. I can see it in her eyes, pleading with me to let it go, to stand up and walk away. She both dreads and hopes I will do just that – better to never know what could've been than to endure another failure.

But she doesn't know me. She doesn't know my strength, my conviction, just how far I'm willing to go for the things that truly matter to me. How can she? I've had no opportunity to prove myself to her, no way to show her I can triumph where a hundred other man have failed. Not because I'm better than them… simply because I'm a stubborn son of a bitch who refuses to accept defeat.

"Tell me," I say, my voice soft and persuasive. "Tell me what it would take to break the enchantment."

"No."

I didn't want it to come to this, to use her emotions against her like I'm about to do. But I see no other choice – a battle of wills between us could go on indefinitely, and I just don't have that kind of time. "Tell me," I say again. I reach up, placing my fingers under her chin, urging her to look in my eyes. "If you don't, I'll always be left to wonder, will always feel guilty for letting you down. You can tell me there's no hope, but unless I know for certain, how can I ever accept it?"

She lets out a shuddering sigh, and I know I've won. I also see another truth in that moment – if she honestly didn't want me to know, she'd never tell me no matter what I attempted to do to persuade her. But no matter how many disappointments she's suffered, she's not ready to give up. Not yet. And I understand the enormity of the trust she's placing in my hands as she begins to speak.

"When my father ordered the enchantment to be cast upon me, he had very specific instructions," she explains, not pulling away when I take her hands again. "He decided upon seven quests, each intended to prove a different virtue. Only the man who succeeded in defeating them all would be worthy of me, he said. And if that ever happened, the spell would be broken and that man would be free to claim me as his own."

"What are the virtues?" I ask her.

"Courage. Strength. Humility. Intelligence. Fidelity. Mercy. I don't know the seventh. It was never revealed to me."

"The quests?"

"Different for each man who takes on the challenge. My father decides."

"So your father is in favor of this?"

Her lovely features contort into an exaggerated grimace. "Oh yes. He thinks it's good sport. You see, he believes no man could ever possess all seven virtues at once, so there's little risk to him. I think he likes seeing them try and fail. Likes the repeated assurance that I'm safe in his keeping."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Charming. And he allows anyone to try?"

She nods. "Anyone. Even commoners."

"And how many have taken up the challenge?"

"Five."

"Will you tell me about them?"

She looks pained, but does not refuse me. "The first was the son of my father's most favored knight. He claimed to have loved me since we were children, but gave up after the second challenge. I suppose he figured out that he could make a good match without going to all that trouble, being as he married soon thereafter."

"Something tells me you were better off without that one."

"Maybe." She gives me a sad smile before continuing. "The second was an ordinary man who worked in our stables. He made it all the way to the fourth challenge, but was offered a substantial bribe and accepted. I suppose I can't blame him for that, considering the circumstances he was accustomed to."

"And the third?"

"Handsome, titled, a great fighter. It seemed like he would go far, but he was also impressively… stupid. Didn't have a chance when it came to proving his intelligence. And then the fourth… my father suspected what he was all about, so he decided to start with the fidelity challenge. I'd tell you the results of that, but it isn't entirely… proper."

I can't help but grin as she blushes a deep scarlet. "And the fifth?" I prompt her gently, suspecting that this is the most painful.

She bites her lip, staring beyond me. "Auryn was the only one who truly loved me, I think. He was of no great consequence – the third son of a minor lord and not particularly skilled at combat or anything else. But he was gentle. He was exceedingly kind. I didn't love him – was careful not to under the circumstances. But I think I could have, if he…"

I squeeze her hands, not needing to hear the rest. She continues nonetheless.

"Those terrible beasts… my father must've known what he was doing, knew that Auryn didn't stand a chance. But he did it anyway, and you know what the worst part was? He didn't even seem to feel any remorse when Auryn died. I've never forgiven him for that."

"I'd say that's understandable."

Suddenly, Vivian leans forward, gripping my hands so tightly that it almost hurts. "Do you see now?" she says, her voice pleading as her eyes fill with tears. "There are only two choices – give up or die. No one can beat it. No one. Please, just walk away now and save us both the pain. I won't hold it against you."

For a long time, I simply gaze into her eyes. There's so much emotion there, so much depth of feeling. How anyone can believe this woman is just a spoiled, selfish princess, I have no idea. I sensed all along that she wasn't exactly who she pretended to be, but this… I could've never imagined how much she's suffered. Honestly, she'd have every reason to be hard and cold after what she's been through, but she isn't. Not in truth.

What amazes me is how hard she fights to protect me, even if it means sacrificing a chance at freedom for herself. That she pushes others away as much as she does, condemning herself to a life full of loneliness, simply because she doesn't want to see them hurt.

Selfish? Not in the least.

Of course, my choice has been clear all along. I was never going to walk away. But now? Not only do I intend to face whatever hellish ordeals her father chooses to throw at me, but I'll be damned if I give up without winning her the freedom she so richly deserves.

"Gwaine?"

My response is bold, far bolder than any words I could've spoken. Leaning forward, I slide my fingers into her silky hair, never hesitating as I bring my lips to hers. In this, she has my answer. She might be reluctant to accept the reality of what I intend to do, but the kiss itself is met with no resistance. On the contrary, she breathes a soft sigh of pleasure, pressing herself closer.

I'd intended this kiss to be gentle, chaste, but it becomes something else entirely when her mouth opens under mine, her soft little tongue flickering out in a wordless invitation. I need no further encouragement. Sweet… so much sweeter than I could've ever imagined. The onslaught of desire that overtakes me is surprising – I can't remember the last time I felt so aroused, especially over something as simple as a kiss.

But then again, it's much more than that and we both know it. It is a promise of everything to come. What I intend to do if I can manage to get that damned chastity belt off, while certainly intriguing, isn't even the point anymore. No, this is something deeper, the strange impression that my life will never be the same, nor that I'd want it to.

I suppose I could be frightened, realizing how much this woman is starting to mean to me and how far I'm willing to go on her behalf. But as I look to the days ahead, all the challenges I will face and the dangers awaiting me, I can only feel a single emotion… the same emotion that has been awakened so strongly by this delicious kiss.

To be honest, I can't wait to see what comes next.


	4. Courage

**Chapter 4: Courage**

* * *

Saying nothing to Vivian, I head down to the banquet hall to present myself to King Olaf. He's seated next to Arthur, sipping from a tankard of ale between snatches of awkward conversation. Both kings give me a look that is equal parts curious and relieved as I approach.

"Pardon me," I say, bowing with a flourish. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all, Gwaine. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course. I just wanted to speak with our guest. Something of a personal matter." Turning to Olaf, I fix him with my best ingratiating smile. "You see, sire, I've taken an interest in your daughter, and she tells me…"

Arthur looks alarmed, clearly recalling his own experience with Lady Vivian. "Gwaine," he mutters under his breath. "Not a good idea."

But rather than being outraged, Olaf can hardly contain his amusement. "Ah, she must have told you about the quests! I take it that you believe you'd make a worthy challenger, Sir Gwaine?"

"I do."

"What's this about?" Arthur says with an expression of concern.

"Allow me to explain, sire." Olaf smiles, relishing the opportunity to share what he perceives as his own brilliance. "As you know, my daughter's virtue has always been precious to me. Indeed, potential threat to that virtue has caused me a great deal of distress in the past."

Arthur's expression clearly says 'you're not the only one', and I'm forced to swallow a chuckle.

"That was until a servant of mine reminded me of the great chastity trials of old. I'm sure you've heard the tales, my king… wasn't it one of your own ancestors who embarked upon such a quest, emerging as a great hero?"

"It was," Arthur agrees, giving the older man a skeptical look. "Though I've always believed such practices fell out of favor because they were… ill-suited to the world we live in now."

Olaf lets out a bark of laughter. "Nonsense! As long as there are helpless maidens to protect, why should we _not_ do whatever it takes to safeguard their virtue? There are so many men waiting to take advantage… crude, vile, unworthy creatures! I tell you, I hardly slept at night when my dear Vivian came of age and became vulnerable to those louts!"

"I'd never argue against the need for protection where appropriate," Arthur says carefully. "But what you speak of… from what I understand, ladies were given no choice in the matter. Both the device itself and marriage to the victor were forced upon them."

"So it was! And all for the better, if you ask me. Women are soft, feebleminded creatures, ruled by emotions rather than logic. Never is this more true than in the young. Do we not owe it to them to protect them from their own foolishness?"

Arthur stares at him in disbelief, clearly tempted to argue the point. Alas, King Olaf is a powerful ally… safer to be diplomatic than honest. "I see," he responds with a polite smile. "So Lady Vivian is in possession of one of these chastity belts? And you, Gwaine, wish to take on the quest that is required to remove it?"

"Yes, sire," I tell him without hesitation. "I do."

"Not one quest, I'm afraid," Olaf interjects in a cheerful voice. "Seven."

"Seven?!"

"Indeed. My precious daughter is worth nothing less, wouldn't you agree?"

"I… ah… yes, of course," Arthur sputters. "Of course she is, it's just… I'd like to speak with Sir Gwaine in private if you don't mind. Just a few things I want to… clear up."

"Certainly, sire! I would never procure the service of one of your finest knights without your hearty consent."

* * *

The door has barely closed behind us when Arthur turns to me, his face full of shock and outrage. "Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"Probably," I say with a shrug, striding over to the table to pour us both a tankard of ale. "Then again, you yourself have been known to take on some rather interesting challenges, have you not? There was that business with the Fisher King, not to mention…"

"Hardly the same thing," he retorts, sinking into a chair as he accepts the drink. "That was to prove myself worthy of…"

"To prove yourself worthy of something that meant a great deal to you, yes? Well then, you of all people should understand."

"Gwaine, I did that to show I deserved the crown… that I was willing to go to any lengths for the sake of my kingdom. I _really_ don't think fighting for a chance to shag Lady Vivian can be compared with that. Besides, why would you want her? She's rude, shallow, doesn't care about anyone except herself. Why not just find someone more pleasant to share your bed?"

"It's not about…" I say, trailing off as he gives me a knowing look. "All right, can't say I haven't thought about it, but… well, I have other reasons. Let's just leave it at that."

"You can never resist a challenge," he observes after a moment. "Nor do you ever hesitate in the face of danger. I admire that about you, Gwaine. Truly, I do. But this is foolishness. We're not talking about some noble cause here. You'd be putting your life at risk, subjecting yourself to the whims of a possessive lunatic, and all for what?"

"So you'll not allow it? Is that what you're telling me?"

He lets out a heavy sigh. "You know what the Knight's code says. Except in times of war or urgent need, a knight is free to take on independent causes as he sees fit. I'd like to forbid it, but as a commander who lives by that code, I'd be violating everything I've sworn to uphold in doing so. But as a friend… as a friend, Gwaine, I'm asking you to reconsider. I can always smooth things over with Olaf."

"Afraid I can't do that, sire."

Giving me a sad smile, he replies, "I thought you might say that. Well, then I have no choice but to give you my blessing."

I wasn't going to explain myself, particularly where my feelings for Vivian are concerned. But as I gaze at him sitting across from me, his eyes filled with worry and bewilderment, I know I owe him more than I've given. He's right – Olaf is not to be trusted. What if I never return? I'd hate to leave my friends with the assumption that I'm doing this just for the sake of my libido.

"Arthur," I say quietly. "Above all, you believe in justice and freedom, do you not?"

He nods. "Of course."

"You've defended those virtues countless times, no matter the cost. Willing to die in the effort if that's what it takes."

"Yes," he agrees as understanding dawns in his eyes. "So you're saying that she has no part in this? Because the Vivian I know… I wouldn't put it past her. She's spiteful. Cruel. Seems like she'd enjoy watching others suffer on her behalf. Whatever she's told you, whatever her father says… are you sure she's the victim here?"

"I'd stake my life on it," I tell him without a trace of doubt. "In fact, that's exactly what I intend to do."

"Well then, I guess there's nothing more to say. Best of luck to you, Gwaine."

* * *

She's not speaking to me.

Patiently, I endure the baleful glares, grin in response to the contemptuous sneers. I'm not fooled by her hostility, can see what she's really feeling when she thinks I'm not looking. Her face is taut with worry, eyes soft and filled with regret. It's the latter I keep with me on our journey to her father's kingdom, held close to my heart as I ride out soon thereafter to face the unknown. She's convinced this will end in failure, abandonment or even death. I have to show her there's another way.

Courage is my first challenge… I'm sure I can handle that one.

I've been given three destinations, each carefully marked on the map I examine after pulling my horse to a brief standstill. At each of these, Olaf claims there will be some hideous monster waiting for me, each possessing a jewel I must retrieve to be presented to my lady fair. Seems easy enough. Rather romantic, really. Olaf was ominous to a comical degree in his attempts to shake my resolve, clearly not realizing what my job actually entails as a Knight of Camelot.

This is proven by the first location, a dank cave in which I find a Wilddeoren waiting for me. Just one? I chuckle to myself as I slay the beast without effort, then go about the business of retrieving the jewel from its stomach. Could've done without this part – revolted, I dig through the stinking entrails, quick to plunge myself and my pilfered treasure into a nearby river as soon as I'm done.

Romantic? Maybe not so much, but I'm wearing a satisfied grin as I ride away with a sparkling ruby pendant around my neck.

I frown in consternation when I reach my second destination, which happens to be a densely wooded vale. No, it can't be _this_ easy. A spider? Rather big fellow, to be sure, about the size of a tournament shield… but still just a spider. And right in the middle of the massive web it's spinning is a sapphire ring.

Just for fun, I decide to retrieve the prize without killing the creature. It's a merry chase, one I prolong more than necessary when I realize the lumbering spider is no match for my quick reflexes. I quite enjoy myself for a while, eventually bringing my mind back to the task at hand as I dart in to retrieve the trinket. Damn, I had no idea it was going to be this easy.

The third location is an abandoned fortress. I enter without hesitation, shrugging when I see the message emblazoned on the wall in a substance that is obviously meant to look like blood. Charming.

_REMAIN WITHIN THESE WALLS FOR THE DURATION OF THE NIGHT, AND THE TREASURE WILL BE YOURS COME MORNING._

Right. Should be simple enough.

As the sun begins to set, I examine my surroundings. It's a small fortress – only one story with a main hall and several other rooms. It's clearly been deserted for quite a long time. The stone walls are covered with ferns and ivy, which densely shroud whatever windows there might be. On the floor is a thick carpet of decaying leaves, and the smell of rot hangs heavy in the air. The only door is the one I entered through; I make several attempts to prop it open, eventually giving up when it repeatedly slams in my face.

Having slept in worse places, I'm unperturbed as I shed my chain mail, then spread out my blanket and settle myself on the ground. A fire. Yes, definitely what I need to make the atmosphere more cheery. Come to that, it's a bit chilly as well; the temperature is dropping swiftly as the sun disappears beneath the horizon.

But despite my best efforts, I can't conjure a single spark. Strange, though I assume the dampness of the place has something to do with it. Quite dreary here, really.

Night settles in, and then everything is pitch black. Sleep seems like a good idea – not much else to do when you can't see a damn thing. But after curling up under my blanket and shivering for a while, I realize it's a useless effort. It's just too bloody cold. Wish I had a fire. Wish I could see something, even just the hand I hold scant inches away from my face. Never liked the dark. I'm not afraid of it or anything, but a man likes to know what's going on around him. No telling what might come creeping up…

And then I hear it: a low, unearthly moan.

Nothing. Just the wind, right?

But that doesn't explain the sound I hear next. Heavy, plodding footsteps, growing louder as they turn in my direction. "Who's there?" I call out, hating myself for the slight tremor in my voice. "What do you want?"

_Your blood._

It's not a voice so much as an echo that reverberates off the walls around me. All right – I might not be a coward, but I'm no fool either. I grapple for my sword, by instinct at first, and then in desperation when all I come into contact with is dry leaves. Damn it, I laid it right beside me. I _know_ I did. Where the bloody hell…?

I freeze at another noise from across the room: the distinct sound of metal scraping against stone.

_Misplace something?_

Rising to my feet, I shout, "I don't know who the hell you are, but if you don't give that back…"

I'm interrupted by a gleeful cackle. _You'll do what, brave knight? It is I who have the advantage here. You are alone. Sightless. Weaponless. I hold your sword. I can see you; you cannot see me. What, exactly, do you intend to do?_

Scared… yeah, I'm not going to deny it. I can deal with anything as long as I have the means to defend myself. Without it? Not so much. Worse, I don't think I've ever been in a situation where I felt truly helpless. I don't have the faintest idea of what to do. Am I to die here then? Granted, I still have enough wits about me to realize this is part of the quest. But that means nothing – I wouldn't be the first to lose my life in the attempt to satisfy Olaf's demands.

"You can see me?" I say carefully.

_Oh yes. As clear as if you were standing under the light of a summer sun._

"Right. Then what am I doing?"

_You're backed up against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest._

A chill skitters up my spine, until I remind myself that this could just be a lucky guess. Standard defensive posture and all that.

"And now?" I persist, responding to what I desperately want to believe is a bluff. "What am I doing now?"

_One hand is stuffed in your pocket. The other is scratching your chin._

Shit.

Whatever it is, it's coming closer now. The temperature seems to drop, the air heavy, fetid, the stink of rotting meat surrounds me. Both nauseated and terrified, I hold my breath… then nearly jump out of my skin as icy fingers close around my wrist. And then I'm swinging my fists, flailing wildly, only to come in contact with empty air. But I can feel the presence looming over me; I know it's there. I make another futile attempt to defend myself, flinching as the blade of my own sword opens a long, shallow cut along my forearm. Desperately, I grapple for it, but it's snatched away with another hideous cackle.

_You expect me to make it that easy, do you?_

A hot rush of anger surges through me, replacing the cold, helpless fear as I bellow my response. "Coward!" I shout, no trace of a quiver in my voice now. "You want a fight? Give me some light and a weapon for each of us. Meet me on equal ground, and I guarantee…"

_Silly man. Next thing I know, you'll be shouting at me about the Knight's code, extolling the virtues of honorable combat. Perhaps I'd even respond to your taunting were I human. Unfortunately for you, I am not. I take what I want by whatever means I choose._

"So what do you want? My blood?"

The phantom voice hesitates. _Perhaps. But it is not so simple as that._

"Explain."

_I can offer you damnation… or salvation. The choice is yours. Tell me… do you want to die?_

"Not particularly." I squint into the blackness, wishing to the gods I had at least some small measure of sight. "But I'm starting to think I might prefer it to dragging answers out of you. All this gloom and doom stuff gets tedious, you know."

My bluster, hardly convincing to my own ears, is met with a chuckle. _More spirited than most, I'll give you that. Mayhap you'll live through this night after all. For now, I'll lay out your choices before you._

"I'm listening."

_The door is just a few feet to your right. If you choose to leave this place, I will not stop you._

"If I do that, I fail in my quest."

_Indeed,_ the phantom voice hisses. Again I feel my blade, the point of it pressing lightly into my chest. Once again, it's snatched away before I can grab it._ Indeed, you will. But you'll walk away with your life. Stay, and I give you no such guarantee._

"I'm not leaving."

_Ah, but you're stubborn one. Well, let me give you a taste of the alternative._

Out of nowhere, the vines on the wall at my back come to life, winding their way around my arms and legs. There's nothing I can do to stop it, no chance of pulling away until it's too late. I'm pinned there, unable to move, realizing that I didn't know what "helpless" meant until this moment. This thing, whatever the hell it is, is going to kill me.

The sword comes up again, slicing through the fabric of my shirt, the tip of it leaving a stinging, bloody furrow in its wake. Next I lose my trousers, and soon enough, I'm naked and shivering, doing my best not to flinch as shallow cuts are carved into my flesh. I say nothing until the blade slides up my thigh, coming closer… too close… oh hell…

"Mind the jolly bits, would you?" I say, trying to keep my voice light. "Rather fond of those."

The presence before me pauses. _Once again, I'll give you the choice. Just say the word and I'll let you walk out of here._

This time, I hesitate. Death seems like a certainty now; if not that, then castration, which somehow frightens me more. And what of Vivian? Wouldn't I be subjecting her to far less pain by walking away as opposed to allowing myself to be slaughtered in this place? After all, the one who hurt her the most was the man who died in his efforts to release her from the spell.

So much easier… and yet, I can't do it. Giving up is not in my nature.

"No," I mutter.

_What was that?_

"No! I'm not going to leave."

_Very well,_ comes the echo as the sword is mercifully pulled away. _Hmm… it seems some friends have arrived who'd like to join in the fun. Shall we greet them before we proceed?_

Other noises come to me then – snuffles and scrabbling, hisses and heavy pants. The presence beside me cackles, and then a bright light flares from out of nowhere. Holy hell…

I see my tormentor first, a grotesque cadaver clad in a filthy shroud. No eyes… no nose… pieces of rotting skin clinging to stark white bone. It's grinning at me, skull permanently fixed in an expression of macabre glee. I cringe back, twisting my head to one side to look at the other occupants of the room. Oh, damn it… there are a few more like this one, yes, but my earlier foes are also present and have multiplied. There have to be at least a dozen Wilddeoren sniffing about, drawing ever closer, clearly hungry for my flesh. Spiders, giant ones, dwarfing the one I faced before.

Closer, closer… they're going to kill me, and there isn't a damn thing I can do to stop them. I'm naked, helpless, trussed up like a beast waiting for the slaughter. Frightening, yes, but also humiliating. Just let it end quickly, that's all I ask. Let it be over and done with.

But then suddenly, I'm free. The restraining vines withdraw; my body sags against the wall as my arms drop to my sides.

_Just say the word,_ the cadaver hisses again as it puts its face next to mine. So hideous; I almost miss the absence of light. Fear of the unknown now seems preferable to the horror of discovery. _Say the word and you can walk out of here. There's still time to reach the door before they attack._

Summoning every ounce of willpower I have left, I take a deep breath, then look my tormentor dead in the face.

"No. Kill me if you must, but I am no coward."

Determined now, I brace myself for the attack… a brutal onslaught that never comes. Instead, I watch with startled eyes as they fade into nothing – cadavers, spiders, and Wilddeoren alike. An illusion then, one that obviously went much further than the imminent threats I was facing. For in their wake, I see no abandoned fortress, no cold, dismal room filled with the smell of decay.

There's a fire burning cheerfully in the hearth, fresh rushes on the floor in the place of rotting leaves. Simple, yet comfortable furniture. I glance down, surprised to find myself fully clothed. More than that, there isn't a scratch on me. Remarkable… though I choose not to dwell on it. Who am I to question a good thing?

Warm and snug in the fur covered bed, I sleep until daylight, my rest peaceful and undisturbed. When I rise, I find it lying on the pillow beside me… a delicately wrought bracelet studded with emeralds and diamonds. Smiling, I slip it into my pocket. I don't hesitate, not even for a quick breakfast. No, I'm out the door and astride my horse without further thought, eager to share the news of my first victory.

My first… I'll be damned if it'll be the last.


	5. Strength

**Chapter 5: Strength**

* * *

Olaf's castle is smaller than Camelot's, yet somehow more luxurious. Everything is lush and green here in the south, and while a few merchants have settled near the fortress, it's primarily surrounded by ornate gardens. Peaceful, idyllic… there's even good hunting to be found when I feel so inclined.

Indeed, I'm quite comfortable here. I haven't been away from Arthur or the knights in three years – hadn't realized how much I've been needing a holiday. I still have six more quests to worry about, of course. But in the meantime, I love sleeping in rather than rising at dawn for endless training sessions. Sure as hell don't mind a break from guard duty or routine patrols either.

Meanwhile, Vivian seems to have accepted my decision. She still has her doubts, I'm sure, but when I returned with the jewels from the initial challenge, I could tell that something had changed between us. It was there in her eyes – the first faint glimmer of hope. Since then, she's softened toward me, and I've come to crave our time alone, her witty conversation and quiet laughter as we stroll through the gardens. She even lets me steal a kiss here and there, something she seems to enjoy as much as I do.

Of course, this peaceful interlude can't last forever. It's been two weeks since my return, roughly the same amount of time Olaf has told me to expect between quests. Not too worried about being sent off again, but I've come to dislike the thought of being away from Vivian. I've never felt this way about a woman, but I'm determined not to hide my feelings, not to be afraid of them. After all, my growing attachment can only help me in the trials ahead.

* * *

Olaf is standing at the high table with me on one side and Vivian on the other when the announcement comes.

"Sir Gwaine," he says grandly. "You succeeded admirably in your first challenge, proving that you are indeed possessed of unprecedented bravery. But should you wish to win my daughter's hand, your ordeals are far from over."

Vivian's expression is full of anxiety mingled with barely suppressed amusement, the latter no doubt caused by her father's pompous behavior. The old fool doesn't even realize I'm mocking him as I bow with an exaggerated flourish, though my ears pick up on a giggle that is swiftly disguised as a cough. I wink at her behind his back before I put on a grave face.

"Indeed, sire. I am yours to command."

He nods in approval. "Courageous indeed. But what of your strength? A worthy suitor should be able to boast of both the skill and the stamina to defend my daughter against all comers. Are you up to the challenge?"

"I am."

"Tomorrow then!"

Smiling, I sink into my chair as the meal is laid out before us. Strength… yeah, I've got this one. With the exception of Percival, none of the Knights of Camelot have ever been able to best me for pure, raw power. And even Percival can't match me for speed. What do I have to worry about?

"I'll be ready to ride at first light, sire."

Olaf shakes his head, signaling to a nearby servant to fill our cups. "Oh no, Sir Gwaine. You aren't going anywhere. The challenge will take place right here in this hall. Midmorning. In the meantime, let us eat! You'll want to build up your reserves for the fight."

I think back to a year ago, imprisoned, half starved, battling in desperation against countless Southrons… all for measly chunks of bread that I didn't even claim for myself because my companions needed nourishment far more than I did. Build up my reserves? Ha! I have reserves Olaf can't even begin to imagine.

Still, there's nothing like the scent of fresh baked bread, and I've always had a liking for roasted boar. No sense in turning down perfectly good food when it's right here in front of me.

* * *

Later that night after the other occupants of the castle have gone to bed, she slips into my chamber. I'm not asleep yet, just thinking with my eyes closed. She doesn't realize that, however… I recognize the soft patter of her footsteps, feel the mattress dip as she sits down beside me. I lie perfectly still, curious as to what she intends to do.

I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until she touches my face, her fingers brushing against my cheek in a gentle caress.

And then I can't help myself. My arms come around her and she gasps in surprise, but I'm already drawing her down to lay beside me. Opening my eyes, I examine her features, moved by an expression that is somehow both vulnerable and carefully guarded. And then I understand. She's afraid of her feelings, scared that her need for me is becoming too obvious.

I feel her muscles tense as she prepares to rise, no doubt ready to offer some convenient excuse. But will she be so quick to withdraw if the need is mine?

"Stay," I whisper, gazing at her with wide, hopeful eyes. "Please."

"I should really… oh, all right."

I can't help a satisfied smile as she relaxes into my embrace, knowing she finds comfort in believing she's the one in control. I see no reason to take that away, no need to point out she isn't half as unaffected as she pretends to be.

"I just wanted to check on you," she says after a moment. "I thought you might be nervous about tomorrow."

"Right." Perhaps I should lie and pretend to be afraid, but I'm too distracted by how good it feels to hold her in my arms. I'm on my back with her head resting on my shoulder, her body pressed close against my side. Soft and warm, so sweetly tempting… I close my eyes and breathe her in, loving the clean floral scent of her hair. Never thought I had a favorite flower, but it seems I do. Roses – the scent of her perfume.

"Gwaine?"

"Hmmm?"

"Just try not to get yourself killed, all right?"

I shift onto my side so our faces are only inches apart. "Do I really mean that much to you?"

She tenses, and I curse myself. I was so determined not to ask for more than she's ready to give, but how can I help it when all I want is to be closer to her?

Rather than withdrawing, however, she surprises me by responding. "You might… eventually. But I need time to decide one way or the other, and I can't do that if you go off and die on me."

I chuckle, amused by her stubborn expression. "Fair enough."

She slips away soon thereafter, and I fall asleep with a small smile on my lips. Our progress might be slow… to a maddening degree sometimes. But at least we're moving forward.

* * *

When I enter the main hall the following morning, most of the banquet tables are gone, replaced by a large, roughly hewn cage. Oh well… not my favorite type of combat, but I've done it before. I can certainly do it again.

Olaf is seated at the high table along with a handful of knights and courtiers. Vivian is there, too, looking particularly lovely in a gown of yellow silk. She tries to smile at me, but I see the fear in her eyes, notice the way her hands are trembling before she hides them from my sight. I flash her a reassuring grin before I turn my attention to her father. He looks positively gleeful, the sick bastard.

"Good morning, Sir Gwaine! I trust you slept well?"

"I did, thank you."

"Glad to hear it." He rises to his feet, casting a meaningful look at the cage. "You'll have little chance to rest today… unless, of course, you are prepared to abandon the challenge."

I shake my head. "Not a chance."

"Are you sure? There are five champions awaiting my command. Five of the toughest, most brutal…"

"I'm ready to face them all."

"So be it," he says with a dramatic air of finality that nearly makes me laugh. "Step into the cage then."

I do so without hesitation, then patiently await my next instructions.

"A Knight of Camelot," Olaf says thoughtfully. "One of Arthur's best, from what I understand. Your armor is of the finest quality, and no doubt you're highly trained in all manners of weaponry. The sword, the mace, the lance… tell me, which is your favorite?"

"Always been partial to the sword," I say with a shrug.

"A worthy choice, but I'm afraid it will do you little good here. Seems more appropriate to strip away the fancy trappings and see what you're really worth. How will you fare without a blade in your hand and your brothers in arms beside you, no fine armor to shield you from the blows you must endure?"

"Father…" Vivian starts in a pleading voice, then trails off as I shake my head at her. I remove my armor, my mail and the padded shirt beneath, tossing them aside and then standing before the king clad in nothing but a tunic, boots, and trousers. He expects me to be nervous. That much is clear in his eyes. But of course, I'm not. Contrary to his assumptions, I've spent most of my life fighting this way. Armor is an unnecessary addition, sometimes even an encumbrance to my skill and speed.

"Shall we begin?" he says with a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"I'm ready when you are."

"Very well. Bring on the challenger!"

My first opponent is a small, wiry man with a shock of yellow hair. He comes flying at me with a furious yell – fast little bugger – though I easily swerve aside, dropping him with a single blow to the head. Vivian looks relieved, even exuberant as she begins to applaud. But I remember the first quest, recalling the way I was lulled into complacency before meeting my real challenge. I don't expect this one to be any different.

The second man is just as unremarkable – I don't even register what he looks like, just the sound of my fist smacking into his flesh and his body hitting the floor. I'm tempted to play with them for a while, perhaps even ask to take on all five at once. But while I'm certainly confident – to a fault sometimes – I'm not stupid. There's no point in taking any unnecessary risks when there's so much on the line.

I soon realize this is a wise decision, as my third opponent puts up a much better fight. He's a dark skinned man, short but sturdy with dense, compact muscles and battle scars all over his chest. Desperate to get a hold of me after I elude his grasp several times, he manages to grab a fistful of my shirt, ripping it straight down the front. I take it off – getting a little sweaty anyway – then smirk to myself as I dance out of the way of the man's jabbing blows. My lady is watching… might as well put on a good show for her.

But when I face the fourth challenger, I can no longer afford to show off. Not only is he the biggest man I've ever seen – Percival would look small next to this one – but the look in his eyes is savage, almost inhuman. I assume, as is usually the case, that his massive size will give me the advantage in speed. And so I go on the defensive, prepared to avoid his crushing blows until he tires himself.

Alas, he's faster than I expected. I'm not prepared for the blur of motion, step out of the way just a fraction of a second too late. He hits me in the jaw – only a glancing blow, but the world still explodes as I drop to the floor. I'm stunned, my vision cloudy, aware of nothing but the man's harsh pants and a subtle shift in the air. But I realize what's about to happen and shift to the side, catching his booted foot right before it slams into my stomach.

The vibration thrums through my body as he crashes to the ground. And then I'm up again, giving my head a vigorous shake to chase the last of the stars from my eyes. He's not finished – far from it – but I'm ready for him this time. I take advantage of his vulnerability as he lumbers to his feet, landing several well aimed blows before he can regain his balance.

Unfortunately, it isn't enough. He's furious now, his broad, fleshy face twisting in outrage as he rushes at me again. I manage to avoid impact this time, swerving gracefully aside as he crashes into the unyielding iron bars. Too much momentum, though it does nothing to slow him down as he spins around to make another pass. Having the measure of him now, I rely on the same strategy for a while, sidestepping in one direction or the other, sometimes managing to land a hit as he streaks past me.

Patiently, I wait… he's taking a while to catch on, not ready to admit that his offensive tactics aren't working. This is exactly what I was hoping for. He gives it one last, desperate attempt, but I'm right behind him this time, ready to throw every bit of my carefully preserved stamina into a relentless assault. He catches me with a meaty fist as he pivots around, but I'm braced for it and manage to stay upright. I catch his arm, wrenching it so hard that I hear the bone snap just as my other hand slams into his face, breaking his nose.

After that, I'm unstoppable. I duck, I weave, I withstand his increasingly clumsy blows, meeting them with a flurry of brutal jabs and a couple of powerful kicks for good measure. Again and again he falls, until at long last, he doesn't rise again.

I wipe the sweat from my brow, then shoot Vivian a triumphant grin as the guards step forward to drag the unconscious man away. I'm feeling good – a little battered and bruised, perhaps, but relatively unscathed. One more fight? I'm sure I can handle that.

"Bring on the final challenger!" Olaf yells, and I turn around at the sound of heavy footsteps.

* * *

When I come back to consciousness, Vivian is right there beside me, her delicate features drawn with fatigue. She makes no attempt to hide the concern in her eyes, nor does she hesitate before placing a hand on my brow and smoothing the hair away from my face. Although it remains unspoken, the change between us is obvious. She cannot fight it anymore, can't pretend she doesn't care for me as deeply as I do for her.

Touched by this realization, I give her a reassuring smile as I push myself up on my elbows, but it twists into a grimace as I drop back onto the pillows again.

"Son of a…"

"Don't try to move," she scolds me, reaching for a small jar on the bedside table. I'm surprised, yet certainly not displeased as she begins to smooth some pungent smelling ointment over my wounds. Never would've pegged her for the nursemaid type, but as always, she proves to be something quite different than appearances would suggest. Her touch is gentle, soothing, even more comforting than the healing balm that gradually melts the worst of my pain away.

"What the hell happened? How long have I been out?" The words come out in a hoarse whisper as I realize my throat is parched, but she's pressing a cup of cool water to my lips before I can even ask for it.

"Two days."

"Two days?!" I curse under my breath, though I can't say I'm shocked as flashes of the final battle begin to come back to me. It was a bloody, vicious thing; I don't need to look down at myself to know I look like hell.

Meanwhile, Vivian is shaking her head, her expression reminding me of a thundercloud as she continues to tend to my injuries. "I still can't believe… he had no right… it was cruel. Dishonorable. It's a wonder you even survived it."

I shrug, then try not to wince as the motion sends a jolt of pain through my battered ribs. Oh yes, I remember it all too clearly now. My opponent had been fully armed, carrying a sword, two heavy clubs, and a pair of razor-sharp daggers. Fool that I was, I'd expected to be given similar advantages in the interest of a fair fight. Instead, I'd been left with nothing but my fists to defend myself, clad only in a pair of trousers compared with the other man's wealth of protective armor.

"The healer will be back to see you in a couple hours," Vivian says, interrupting my thoughts.

"How bad am I?"

She smiles, though I'm disturbed by the guilt in her eyes. "Bruised ribs. A few cuts and gashes and a nasty bump on the head. The blood loss was the worst of it – that's why you lost consciousness. But with a week or two of rest, you should be all right."

"Did I…?" I trail off, afraid to voice the question aloud. I run over the fight in my head, see myself blocking and defending, managing to strip my opponent of his sword and one of his daggers. I can still feel the club in my hands as I ripped it from his grasp, gripping it so hard that I still have splinters embedded in my palms. I remember hitting him again and again, growling in frustration at the thick armor that shielded him from the impact, even as his own blows brutalized my naked flesh. But there at the end, bloodied and broken, fighting on instinct alone… what had been the outcome? My vision had been hazy, half blinded by sweat and growing dark around the edges. I think I recall making a final thrust, one last, desperate attempt to emerge victorious.

After that, nothing.

"Gwaine? Are you asking if you won the fight?"

Unable to speak, I jerk my head in a curt nod.

She hesitates, her expression giving nothing away. And then just as I think I might go mad for want of an answer, her features relax into a brilliant smile. "Yes. Oh, Gwaine, it was magnificent! Everyone thought you were down – my father was ready to announce your defeat. And then… I don't know how you did it, but you were up again, and…"

Feeling vastly relieved, not to mention a bit smug, I relax against the pillows. I take her hand and press it to my lips, content just to bask in the admiration I can see in her eyes. I feel like a hero, a champion, practically drunk on my own triumph. But the perfection of the moment is short-lived as her expression changes, suddenly tense and filled with fear.

"What's wrong?" I ask her. I wish I had the strength to rise and take her in my arms, but the best I can do is rub my thumb over the back of her hand in soothing circles as I wait for her response.

"You… you have to stop this," she whispers, her voice soft and tremulous. "Now, before it's too late."

"Give up?" I shoot her a cocky grin. "I thought I was doing pretty well."

To my alarm, she bursts into tears. "Don't you understand? This isn't a challenge. It's a death sentence! My father… he's determined to break you. He was never this hard on the others, and… there's no telling what else he might do! Please, I don't want you to die. I'm not… this isn't worth it."

Ignoring the pain, I push myself up on my elbows after all so I can look deep into her eyes. "I'm not going to die," I tell her quietly. "And I'm sure as hell not giving up."

She knows me well enough to realize it's a futile argument. I can see that as she slumps back into her chair, the strength draining out of her like water through a sieve. But while her expression still holds a great deal of anxiety, I can read something else in those beautiful features.

Relief.

Despite herself, Vivian is slowly learning to believe in me.


	6. Fidelity

**Chapter 6: Fidelity**

* * *

"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Vivian asks me, her eyes soft and filled with concern.

I respond with a smile, taking her hand and tucking it in the crook of my arm as we stroll through the gardens. It's been just over a week since the fight, and while I still find myself tiring more easily than usual, I'm more or less recovered. Good thing, too – Olaf informed me at breakfast that I'd be leaving for my next quest on the morrow.

"You've proven your physical prowess," he'd told me, not quite managing to hide the disappointment in his voice. "The time has come to test your other virtues."

I'd rather cut off my own foot than admit it, but I'm not feeling so sure of myself this time. Strength? Courage? Easy enough. I've been a fighter my whole life. But I don't know what to expect from the rest of the challenges, especially since Olaf has suddenly decided not to give me specifics. What if I choose humility over mercy if it's the latter that's under question? And how will I be expected to prove my intelligence? Granted, I'm far from feebleminded, but there are a lot of bad choices in my past, stupid mistakes and moments of regret. What if…?

"You're frowning. Are you still in pain?"

Shaken from my reverie, I glance down at my companion, then scold myself for my dismal thoughts. I should be making the most of her company, her quiet laughter and enchanting smiles. She's clad in a white cotton dress with her hair floating loose about her shoulders, simple yet far more lovely than the profusion of brightly colored blossoms that surround us. Indeed, it's absurd to be troubled by anything in the face of so much beauty. But then again, the cure for my anxieties is also the cause of them – the more I come to feel for her, the more I realize just how much I'll be losing if I should fail.

"Gwaine?"

"I'm fine," I tell her, flashing what I hope is a convincing smile.

She frowns. "Maybe you should sit down and rest."

"I really don't need…"

Her delicate features twist into a familiar stubborn scowl, and I know it's futile to argue the point. I let her steer me over to a tiny gazebo, offering no protest as I sink down onto the bench at her silent command. Perhaps I should be contrary just for the sake of it – certainly something I would've done in the past. But there's a time and a place for such things; for now, I'm gratified by her approving nod as she settles herself beside me.

My worries subside when she slips her hand in mine, our fingers entwining like the ivy that weaves itself around the latticework above our heads. She shifts closer, leaning into me, and it's at this opportune moment when I realize how well secluded we are. No prying eyes here, no one to raise any objection as I throw caution to the wind and pull her into my lap. Will she take offense? No… she squeaks in surprise, but then her lips curve into a devilish smile right before she presses them to mine.

Again, the treatment is also my affliction. She is swiftly becoming bolder, more confident in the affection we share. Part of me rejoices in that, kissing her deeply, hungrily, drunk on my next small yet significant triumph as I slide a hand up to cup her breast. She gasps and it swells beneath my touch, soft and full, her hum of pleasure swallowed by my own shuddering breath. So warm, so beautiful and sweetly willing…

Unfortunately, the other part is impossible to ignore. It's right there between us though I doubt she can feel it, rigid flesh pressed tightly against an equally unyielding metal barrier. I have precious little time to lose myself in her before the discomfort rises to the forefront, reminding me of the reality of our situation. These kisses can lead nowhere, my caresses promising frustration for us both if I don't bring myself under control. And so as much as I hate to do it, I pull away, easing her off my lap as I rise to my feet.

"Suppose I'm a little tired after all," I say, grabbing for the very thing I was determined to deny earlier as a convenient excuse. "Think I'll turn in early."

Of course, sleep is the last thing on my mind when I enter my chamber. As soon as the door closes behind me, I kick off my boots and yank my shirt over my head, fumbling with my laces as I fall back across the mattress. I let out a grunt of appreciation as I release myself from the tight confines of my trousers, still impossibly hard and aching for relief.

But my hand has barely started to move before I pull it away. I want to… holy hell, do I want to… but it seems like a mockery of everything Vivian has been denied for all these years, a strange contradiction to my attempts to free her from that oppression. Does she even have the option of self pleasure? Somehow I doubt it, judging by her innocent surprise in response to even the first faint stirrings of arousal. No, I can't do it… how can I indulge myself with a clear conscience when she cannot?

This seems like a logical (and impressively noble) conclusion, one that makes me smile as I drift off into a restless sleep. It isn't until the following day that I realize the enormity of my mistake.

* * *

The journey is an easy one, only a few hour's ride through sun-dappled forests and gently rolling hillsides. My destination seems pleasant, too – I recognize the structure as I enter the peaceful village, set apart from the cottages and shops. It's quite different than the rest of the buildings, a cozy, prosperous looking house nestled in an elegant expanse of carefully tended shrubbery.

"You'll know it by the statues," Olaf had said, and indeed, I see a pair of them as I dismount and venture up the cobbled path. It isn't until I draw closer, however, that the details come into sharp relief – the statues are both barely clad women bent into scandalous poses.

_Oh hell…_ I realize in a flash where I am and which challenge I'm meant to undertake. A brothel. A bloody brothel, and here I am with last night's frustration still fresh in my mind, so starved for pleasure that just a glance at a half exposed breast carved from stone prompts an unwelcome stirring below. _Gwaine, you fool. Idiot! What the hell were you thinking?!_

But there's nothing to do other than proceed. I reach the door, swallowing hard in an effort to compose myself before lifting my hand to knock.

It's opened almost immediately, and I curse under my breath as the woman appears with a provocative smile on her lush red lips. Indeed, she's quite the beauty, the type I would've pursued without a second thought under any other circumstances. White, flawless skin, cascades of bright gold hair. Her body is exquisite, a wealth of sensuous curves displayed to perfection in the flimsy crimson garment she wears. And those eyes… as deep and blue as a mountain lake, beckoning a man to fall right into them as he pulls her closer and…

_Stop it, Gwaine!_

"What can I do for you?" she says, her voice coming out as a sultry purr. The kind of voice that…

I clear my throat awkwardly before flashing her a weak smile. "I… ah, King Olaf sent me."

"Oh, yes! Please, come in!"

If I suspected I was in trouble before, I'm sure of it now. The interior of the house is dimly lit by a handful of sconces on the walls, softly illuminating a collection of tapestries featuring some of the most erotic depictions I've ever seen. I momentarily fixate on one – a flame haired siren on her knees before her lover, staring up at him with beguiling eyes as she takes him into her mouth. Holy hell. The image captivates me until I see the one next to it – a fair haired beauty, uncannily familiar, down on her hands and knees with her lower lip caught between perfect white teeth as she's taken from behind. And then the next…

"Over here, handsome."

I tear my eyes away from the tapestry, struggling to focus my attention on the inhabitants of the room. There are three of them – three of the most beautiful women I've ever seen – reclining on plush cushions in various states of undress. I recognize them instantly. They surround me, after all, sensuous displays of their pleasure plastered all over the walls. My gaze flickers to the two I've already seen, lingering on the redhead for a moment before moving to the last.

This one has copper colored skin and eyes like a cat, luscious spirals of hair as black as a raven's wing. I'm almost hypnotized by the swell of her breasts – large, round, promising to spill over the top of her lacy chemise at the slightest provocation. And there she is on the wall, gloriously naked, straddling a man with her head thrown back in ecstasy. A man who looks a lot like…

"What the hell?" I mutter in bewilderment. Is that me? I step closer to a tapestry I haven't examined yet, both bemused and wildly aroused by the sight of myself sharing pleasure with not just one, but all three at once. "What is this?"

"An illusion," the redhead responds with a mischievous smirk. "But it can be reality if you wish it so."

"Yes… No… I mean…" I'm floundering, finding it impossible to think straight. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before trying again. "What I mean is that I'm flattered," I pause, flashing her what I hope is a decent imitation of my charming smile. "But I can't. I'm on this quest, you see, and I…"

"We know all about it," the raven haired beauty interrupts. "The rules are right here if you'd like to have a look at them."

"Rules?" I frown as she withdraws a small roll of parchment – from the valley between those magnificent breasts, naturally. Unrolling it, I do my best to ignore the intoxicating scent of jasmine perfume that emanates from the paper.

_Sir Gwaine,_ it reads.

_Can you withstand temptation and prove you are truly faithful to my daughter? We'll know for sure after you've spent the night with the lusty wenches I've selected for you. There are just a few things you must remember If you hope to succeed:_

_– You may not touch the wenches, in a carnal way or otherwise. _

_– You will not be permitted to pleasure yourself as long as you are in their company._

_– The wenches have been instructed not to touch you as long as you adhere to these rules, though they are free to tempt you however else they choose._

_– You must remain here under these conditions until sunrise, at which time a small contingent of guards will arrive to escort you on your return journey._

_Best of luck to you, Gwaine. I have a feeling you're going to need it._

_Olaf_

Scowling at the parchment, I ball it up in my fist before stuffing it in my pocket. The man annoys the hell out of me, but I suppose that's a good thing in this situation. I spend a little time fuming over his sick enjoyment of my discomfort, a few precious minutes where I can focus on something other than my starved libido. Of course, it doesn't last… one glance at the trio of seductive women and I realize it's a long damn time between now and sunrise.

"Not allowed to touch," the blonde says with an appealing pout. "Such a shame."

The redhead nods in agreement, her eyes drifting lazily over my body before coming to rest directly on my crotch. My nether regions stir in response to her perusal, but I'm determined now. Whatever happens, I will not be broken.

"We might not be able to touch him," the woman with the black curls observes, "but the rules don't say anything about taking our pleasure with each other. What do you think, Sir Gwaine? Would you like to watch?"

Shaking my head, I spy a chair on the far side of the room and make my way over to it. "Best if I don't," I say as casually as I can manage. "But do as you will."

Through some superhuman effort, I actually manage to keep my eyes trained on the floor, memorizing the intricate floral pattern of the rug beneath my feet. But that only helps so much – I can still hear the rustle of fabric as garments are tossed aside, still imagine a lurid picture of what is happening in response to the moans and sighs and soft sounds of approval that caress my ears. My breathing is ragged, sweat beading my forehead, but I'm resolved to stay right where I am. Damn it, I shouldn't… I can't…

Vivian… yes, I'll think of Vivian. Her face appears before my eyes and I relax a little, recalling the stubborn scowls I somehow adore just as much as her smiles. I remember those dark eyes hard and flashing with anger, then soft with concern or tenderness… hazy with passion. I hesitate at that thought as a cry of ecstasy echoes off the walls, but no… Vivian is different. It isn't torturous to think about my desire for her, even when there's little I can do to satisfy it.

Why is that?

"He isn't watching," announces a voice from across the room, both breathless and sulky.

"Give him time," another reassures her in a throaty whisper. "No man can resist forever. Oh, don't stop. Yes, right there!"

Again, I ignore the temptation to look, studying the back of my hands as if they hold all the secrets of the universe. It becomes easier after a while, sounds of pleasure reduced to harmless background noise as I become caught up in my musings once again. I think of Vivian, yes, but also my friends back in Camelot, whether I am missed and when I might be able to return. By the time I get around to the minutiae of reviewing my current training routine and wondering if it needs any adjustments, the room has grown quiet.

I look up out of reflex, an action I immediately regret. Sweat drenched and shamelessly naked, the three of them are sprawled across the cushions, drowsy with satisfaction in the aftermath of their romp. I can't help but stare at their tousled hair and swollen lips, cannot control the fresh wave of arousal that rips through my body.

But now I see the answer to my earlier question, gazing back at me through the eyes of strangers. Beautiful eyes they might be, but they stir memories within me… recollections of a previous life spent wandering from place to place, sharing the beds of women I barely knew. I remember the satisfaction I enjoyed in those moments, purely physical and without complication. But I can't forget the inevitable loneliness that followed, the unspoken longing for something more.

This is why I'm not tortured by my desire for Vivian, even though she arouses me every bit as much as the women lying naked across the room. Can't lie and say I wouldn't ravish her again and again if given the option, but in the meantime, I'm lucky enough to enjoy every other part of who she is. I have her affectionate smiles and gentle laughter, her thoughts and feelings, even her fits of temper. And I know that whatever is yet to come is definitely worth waiting for.

When I think of throwing all that away, the spectacle in front of me doesn't seem half as appealing as it did when I first walked in here. What kind of madness would it be to sacrifice so much for a moment of lust that would leave me with nothing in the end?

Upon that thought, the rest of the night passes easily. Too overzealous in their prolonged attempt to sway my resolve, my would-be temptresses have exhausted themselves. They throw out suggestive comments from time to time, flash me seductive looks while lazily pawing one another. But these are halfhearted attempts – it isn't going to happen and they know it.

Eventually they drift off to sleep; I do the same soon thereafter.

When I wake up in the morning, they're gone, as is any trace they'd ever been there to begin with. Were they real or just another illusion? I don't know, nor do I care as I venture outside to meet my escort.

I'm smiling to myself as I mount my horse, having come to several important conclusions:

First, I was a fool to lose my confidence. For this – for _her_ – it's hard to imagine anything I couldn't do.

Second, self-denial is ridiculous, best of intentions or not. Oh yes, I intend to give myself a little relief as soon as I get the chance… just to be on the safe side, you know. I'm sure Vivian would understand.

But most of all, one thing has been made abundantly clear by my night of temptation. No other woman can hold a candle to the one I've fallen deeply in love with, the one who can't possibly know what she's come to mean to me.

Nice try, Olaf, but being faithful to your daughter isn't a test. It's a privilege.


	7. Intelligence

**Chapter 7: Intelligence**

* * *

King Olaf expected the fidelity quest to be my undoing. That much is clear in his expression when I come striding back into the castle. Meanwhile, Vivian looks smug, though more significantly, not surprised in the least. "I knew you could do it," she says with absolute confidence, and I'm amazed by her reaction, humbled to realize she has so much faith in me.

But it isn't just that. She seems to understand me on some deeper level, far more than I've come to expect even from my closest friends. Back in Camelot, I'm certainly valued for my better qualities. But there are many assumptions made about me, too, particularly when it comes to amorous pursuits. As if I'm only interested in a good time… as if my harmless flirtations are synonymous with bedding every woman in sight. Not sure what I did to earn that reputation, but it's far from the truth. I'm glad Vivian sees that, even if no one else does.

Perhaps when this is all over, they will.

Four quests left… what obstacles will I be facing in the weeks to come? No matter – I'm not wasting any more energy on self-doubt. Maybe it seems arrogant, but I know now that I'm not going to fail. Not because I'm invincible, not that I think I'm any better than those who have come before me. I'm going to succeed simply because to do otherwise is unthinkable.

In the meantime, I'm given another reprieve, two more weeks in which to enjoy Vivian's company before the next challenge. I'm grateful for our time together, of course, but my impatience grows stronger by the day. Having acknowledged my love for her, finding more reasons to feel the way I do with every moment we share, I can't help chafing at limitations that have become impossible to ignore.

It isn't just the chastity belt, though that seems like the most obvious issue when I retire to my chambers in the evening, hard and aching for her. As frustrating as that might be, the fact that the physical barrier is also an emotional one makes it infinitely worse. After all, how can I speak to her of love, make promises or plan a future together, when even the present is yet to be determined? No, I'm not going to fail her… but until I turn intention into fact, it doesn't seem fair to make any claims on her heart.

Still, the days pass pleasantly enough. We share meals, walk in the gardens each day, and during the second week, Olaf finally relents to her persistent requests to allow us to go riding together. She's smiling when I meet her in the stables, cheeks pink and eyes bright with anticipation. Unable to help myself, I hesitate before I approach her, giving her a look of mock concern.

"Are you going to help me mount?"

"I'm not sure," I say thoughtfully. "Last time I checked, you weren't exactly enthusiastic about that sort of thing."

"What?" She seems confused before the memory comes flooding back, her face flushing with embarrassment. "Gwaine! I wasn't… I didn't…" Flustered, she trails off, giving me a sheepish look. "I was awful, wasn't I?"

"Nah." I step forward, placing my hands around her slender waist. Rather than boosting her up, however, I hold her there, pressing my lips to her forehead and then the tip of her nose before capturing her mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. As always, I'm intoxicated by her closeness, lost to the honeyed taste of her and the warm softness of her body against mine. I forget what I was about to say… hardly remember to breathe until she pulls back with a dazed expression.

"Yes, I was," she says after a moment, reaching up to brush my hair away from my face with gentle fingers. "And I'm sorry for it."

"Sorry for what?"

* * *

I love the forests here in the south. Dense they might be, but green and fragrant, the lush undergrowth aided by dozens of swift running streams that branch out from the nearby rivers. The pathways are wide and well tended, making for an easy ride as we travel leisurely toward our destination.

"Just a little further now," Vivian says, though she refuses to tell me where we're going. This doesn't bother me in the least – it seems that trust is another emotion that has grown strong between us. I wait patiently, smiling at her obvious enthusiasm, until we finally emerge into a tiny glade.

She doesn't need to explain – my senses are immediately captivated by what lies before me. Carpeted by a profusion of bluebells and other flowers I can't put a name to, it's a lovely place, soothing me with sweetly perfumed air and the soft tinkle of falling water. I quickly find the source of the latter – a miniature waterfall spilling into a crystal clear spring, surrounded by draperies of deep green ferns. Might not be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, but it's damned well close to it.

I bring my horse to a standstill and help Vivian dismount, holding her close as she breathes in the serenity of our surroundings.

"This is my favorite place in the world," she says simply.

"Indeed, I can see why. How long have you been coming here?"

"Since I was just a child," she responds, looking thoughtful. "Right after I lost my mother. I needed somewhere to hide, couldn't stand being in the castle any longer. The courtiers, the servants… everyone kept asking if I was all right, trying to make me eat when I wasn't hungry, sleep when I didn't feel tired. I felt smothered. They didn't understand that I needed to be left alone, I guess."

I nod, settling myself beside her on the grass and taking her hand as I wait for her to continue.

"And so I ran away." Her expression is peculiar – part wistful, part proud. "In the middle of the night, no less. I was terrified. I could see shadows, hear creatures moving in the underbrush all around me. But when I made it here, I felt safe… safer than I'd felt since the last time my mother had tucked me into bed."

"How old were you?"

She smiles, pulling her eyes away from some vantage point in the distance to meet mine. "Five. My father was hysterical, as I'm sure you can imagine. It was two days before they found me."

Unable to help myself, I snort. "Surprised he ever let you outside again."

"He was never the same after that. I'm not sure if it was losing my mother or almost losing me so soon thereafter, but you see…"

"How did she die?"

"Childbirth. Her and the baby – the son my father always wanted."

"That's awful," I tell her, at a loss for what else to say. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," she responds quietly. "Not so much for my sake – I was too young to understand – but for his. You see now, don't you? He's overprotective to a maddening degree. Sometimes I even think he's a little insane. But he has his reasons. I guess that's why, even when he infuriates me, I can't hate him. Not truly. I'm all he has left."

"Understandable," I say, though I'm having a hard time reconciling myself with this new information. I'm used to thinking of Olaf as a crazy old bugger, despising him for the way he's treated his daughter. Sympathizing with the man? Never expected that.

Seeming to sense the direction of my thoughts, Vivian says, "I'm not saying that makes it right. It doesn't. I just don't think he understands that allowing me to live my life as I choose isn't the same as losing me. No matter what, I'll always be his daughter."

"Right," I mutter, a cold chill creeping up my spine at the next thought that occurs to me. What if I do succeed in these quests and he refuses to let go? Another chastity belt? Something worse?

But when I voice these concerns aloud, she gives me a reassuring smile. "He'll have no choice. No, really – that was part of the bargain he agreed to from the beginning. If the spell is broken, I belong to you. He will not have the power to interfere."

"You belong to yourself," I tell her.

"What do you mean?"

I let out a heavy sigh. "I mean the choice is yours to make. If I succeed…"

She frowns. "If you succeed, you have every right…"

"No, I don't. That might be the nature of the spell, but I don't think that way. If you come to me freely, that's another matter, but I don't want you to do it out of any sense of obligation."

"But to go through all of this… are you saying you'd just let me walk away at the end of it all?"

"Yes," I say firmly, ignoring how much it pains me to imagine such a thing. "If that was what you wanted. I'm not doing this to win a prize, no matter how appealing that prize might be. I'm doing it because you deserve your freedom. Releasing you from another man's control just to have you under mine? Rather defeats the purpose, don't you think?"

"But… you _do_ want me?"

I chuckle, shaking my head at the worried look on her face. "More than you will ever know. But when it comes to it, I'd want the decision to be yours. No forcing your hand, no hard feelings if I wasn't what you wanted. Understand?"

Comprehension dawns and she's struck speechless, which in turn renders me mute. I find it hard to imagine that anyone could be so deprived of free will that the idea of having it is a foreign concept. But there it is – a lifetime without choice staring back at me, utter disbelief gradually giving way to astonishment, swiftly followed by gratitude. And even in that, I hurt for her… why should she feel grateful for something that should be hers by right?

"Gwaine?"

"Hmmm?"

"If you make it through the rest of the quests, I…" She blushes and ducks her head. "I would choose to be with you. Willingly. What I feel for you, I… well, I don't know how to explain it, but I can assure you that obligation has nothing to do with it."

I'm quiet for a moment, torn between elation and a brief crisis of conscience. Yes, she's exactly what I want. No doubt about that. But would it be fair? Shouldn't she be able to enjoy her newfound freedom rather than shackling herself to me? She's so innocent, so sheltered… how can she know I'm truly what she wants without some basis for comparison, some life experience upon which to base her decision?

_Gwaine, you're an idiot,_ I tell myself as I realize what I'm doing. Did I not just tell her that it was her choice to make? What gives me the right to turn around and place restrictions on that, even if I believe it might be for her own good? Hell, Olaf used the same damned excuse when he locked her up in that accursed chastity belt. It wasn't what was right for her, only what he deemed to be so. And although I'd like to believe my judgment is better than his, it's still mine rather than hers.

No… I have to put my reservations aside and let her think for herself.

"Gwaine?" She looks worried. Of course she does. Here she is, more or less offering me her heart, and I respond with silence.

"Sorry," I say, flashing her a reassuring smile as I pull her into my arms. "If you still feel that way when this is all over, nothing would make me happier. Guess I better get through the rest of these quests so we can find out, eh?"

* * *

I'm assuming my intelligence will be easy to prove, that it won't take much to have this quest over and done with. Olaf might've been creative with previous challenges – mindless brutality in particular seems like one of his strengths. But a clever mind? Not so much.

Still, I expected more than what I've been given, which is a sealed cache with a riddle engraved on the lid.

_Speak my name and I disappear._

Needing only a moment to think about it, I smile to myself. "Silence."

The lid pops open and I let out a sigh of satisfaction, expecting to find some trinket I'm supposed to present as evidence of my success. But then I frown. There's another inscription on the inside, along with four peculiar objects – a small dagger, a potato, an empty cup, and a handful of corn.

_Rely upon the earth for creation_  
_Look to the skies for salvation_  
_Consumption leads to fortification_  
_And fruition comes from subjugation_

_All these things are connected, utilized to bring about a single outcome. What is it?_

What the bloody hell?

Beneath the objects is a scrap of parchment, filled with the handwriting I've come to recognize as Olaf's:

_Ask any other person to help you solve this riddle, and the quest is forfeit._

I roll my eyes. Obviously.

_You have until sunset to come up with the correct conclusion. Speak it aloud and you will receive evidence of your success._

Until sunset? It's already midday. I stare in consternation at the seemingly unrelated objects, trying to find a connection between them. Daggers can definitely be used for subjugation, but that seems too obvious. Besides, what does that have to do with fruition? There's food involved here, but why would I need to bring vegetables under my control?

After a bit of deliberation, I think I at least have the second one figured out. Skies. Salvation. An empty cup. Water? Yes, that has to be it. But how is that connected with the other parts of the riddle? Creation. Fortification. Subjugation. Does it have to do with cooking? No, that doesn't make sense. The earth itself leads to creation, which must mean… growing things? All right, that makes sense.

But what to grow – the corn or the potato? Perhaps both? No. There are four objects, each with a different purpose in mind.

"Plant the corn," I mutter aloud. "Water it so it won't die. Eat the potato so that… hell, I don't know."

Scowling to myself, I try again. "Plant the potato. Water the damn thing. Snack on some corn. Then use the dagger to kill Olaf for coming up with such a bloody impossible quest. Sounds about right."

Of course, it isn't. I go over every possibility I can think of, all to no avail. Maybe I'm not as smart as I thought? I don't know, but I'm growing anxious as I look out my chamber window to see the shadows lengthening. Late afternoon already? How is that possible? I'm going to fail… no, I can't fail. Water the dagger… oh hell, I'm losing my mind!

Desperate now, I decide to take a walk in an effort to clear my head. At first I just mean to get out of the castle and wander the gardens for a while, but then I'm hit by a flash of inspiration. Still clutching the cache, I venture down the slope that leads away from the fortress to where a few farmers have established their crops. Hey, Olaf said I couldn't ask anyone for help; there was no mention of quietly observing.

The chickens are my first hint, studiously ignoring my presence as their owner scatters a handful of feed over the ground. The other? Not a well tended field, but one that appears to have been abandoned, brambles swiftly encroaching on whatever crops still remain.

Just as the sun dips below the trees, I call out the answer with a flourish, grinning to myself as the objects disappear to be replaced by a gold medallion.

Another quest down. Just three more to go.


	8. Humility

**Chapter 8: Humility**

* * *

"Strange riddle," Vivian says with a frown as she traces a finger over the inscription. "What were the clues?"

"A potato," I pause to finish the last of my ale before continuing. "A handful of corn. An empty cup, and a dagger."

We're seated at the high table, reluctant to part ways as night deepens around us. Everyone else has long since departed; even the remnants of the evening feast have been cleared away. _Just a little longer_, I think to myself, and I can see in her eyes that she feels the same. Olaf might tolerate our daily walks in the gardens, but I don't think he'd take too kindly to me whiling away the evening in the seclusion of her chambers.

Of course, the chastity belt is still in place to give him peace of mind, but at this point, I'm not willing to push my luck. Only three quests to go, and he's starting to get worried. Gone are his pompous announcements, gone is the tolerant amusement in response to my successes. When I presented the medallion to him earlier this evening, my triumph was met with an expression of astonishment, swiftly followed by a glimmer of fear in those shrewd old eyes.

Yes, I've ceased to be a source of entertainment. Now I'm a threat. No more games; his growing determination to see me fail can only mean the worst is yet to come. I'm prepared for that. But it seems best to err on the side of discretion where Vivian is concerned these days… better he doesn't realize how close we've become or what it could mean.

"And they're all supposed to be related? That doesn't make any sense."

Bringing myself back to the matter at hand, I give her a satisfied smile. "Sure it does."

"How?"

"Think about it."

She goes silent, her delicate features scrunching up in an expression of intense concentration. Only for a moment, and then she lets out an exasperated sigh. "I don't know. Tell me."

"Ah, that would be too easy."

"_Gwaine!_"

She scowls at me, but I shake my head rather than giving her the answer. Why waste such a perfect opportunity to get a rise out of her? I love the sweet side of Vivian I've come to know, but I always enjoy these reminders that her temperamental nature isn't all an act. She's still stubborn, demanding, impatient… something of a spoiled princess underneath it all. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Survival," she says flatly. "Something to eat, something to drink, a weapon to defend yourself."

"Good guess, but that isn't it," I respond. "You're just thinking about the objects themselves, not the riddle or what it means."

"Well maybe I'm not as clever as you!"

"Nah, that isn't the problem. Just less patient is all."

Expecting some snippy retort, I'm surprised when she rises from her seat, flashing me a saucy grin as she does so. "Fine, don't tell me. I was going to… show my gratitude. You know, a little reward for making it this far. But maybe I'll just go to bed instead."

"I already have my reward," I respond with as much nonchalance as I can muster, holding the medallion up for closer inspection. It's an ugly, gaudy thing, clumsily engraved with symbols that hold no significance for me. Still, I cradle it in my hand like some priceless treasure, determined not to let her see how deeply affected I am by her obvious attempt at manipulation. Show her gratitude, eh? I can think of a dozen different ways in which she could do so, each more intriguing than the last.

"Very well," she says sweetly, bending down to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Good night then."

Damn. I was hoping she wouldn't call my bluff, but before I know it, she's halfway across the hall, headed toward the wide double doors. Leaving, and taking her promise to show her gratitude right along with her. Oh hell, stubbornness is all well and good, but there's a fine line between that and stupidity.

"Earth for creation," I call after her. She stops in her tracks. "You plant the potato in the ground. The skies for salvation… that's the cup. You use it to capture rainwater so your crop will grow."

Slowly, she turns, and I do my best to ignore her triumphant expression. "And the corn? Do you plant that, too?"

"No. Fortification, remember? You feed the corn to chickens to make fertilizer."

"Lovely." She wrinkles her nose in distaste.

I shrug. "Least I was given corn as a clue rather than a handful of chicken shit. I'm not complaining."

She concedes the point with a tiny nod. "That all makes sense, I suppose. But what about the dagger?"

"Subjugation. You'd use it to keep the weeds under control for a successful harvest."

Vivian returns to the table, picking up the cache once more. She reads the inscription again, then shakes her head in disbelief. "All that mystery, and the point was just to grow a potato? Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. We _are_ talking about my father, after all." Suddenly, she giggles. "I can only imagine how disappointed he was when you figured it out so easily."

Easily… I flash her a smug smile, trying not to think about all those hours I spent agonizing over Olaf's riddle. She doesn't need to know what a close call it was, only a stroke of luck that I figured it out at all.

Meanwhile, I'm disconcerted as she wishes me good night again, then slips away with no mention of her earlier promise. Bloody hell, I can't believe I fell for that one!

* * *

Soon enough, I'm on my way once more, this time commanded to journey to the kingdom of Essetir.

Lovely country, full of swift flowing rivers, lush forests, and fragrant moors. Used to spend a lot of time around these parts in my days as a wanderer; never had any trouble with King Cenred until I got involved with the folks from Camelot. Indeed, can't help feeling sorry for the guy when I really think about it. Might not have been the best of kings, but he seemed a decent sort until he got tangled up with Morgause and her schemes. Not the first man to lose his head over a beautiful woman, that's for sure.

In the end, of course, he lost everything. And though several years have passed, the evidence can still be seen if one looks close enough. Fields still lying fallow, belonging to men who went away to war only to never return. More than that, it's in the faces of the people I occasionally pass – drawn, almost wary expressions of those who don't know what to expect from one day to the next now that their leader is gone.

The other kingdoms have done their best, providing guard details and temporary stewards to keep the peace. But since Cenred died without an heir, there has been no one to inherit his title, nor the full responsibility of maintaining the kingdom. A few claimants here and there, to be sure, but all shady characters who have been prevented from doing so in the interest of a peaceable future. Meanwhile, Essetir's fate remains hanging in the balance, waiting for a strong, worthy leader to arise.

What does this have to do with me? Something, surely… I've been instructed to visit the fortress itself, right at the very heart of the kingdom.

It's close to nightfall when I arrive, weary and saddle sore as the mighty stone edifice finally appears in the midst of the sweeping plain. The interior is much as I expected – stark, masculine, a fortress designed for practical purposes rather than a luxurious palace. Let others say what they will about Cenred – he clearly wasn't a man given to useless displays of wealth or vanity.

"Sir Gwaine?"

"That's me." I frown as a pair of guards shuffle forward, dressed in the livery of… well, to tell the truth, I've never seen it before. Midnight blue backdrop, with the insignia of a falcon emblazoned across it in silver thread. Nice, though I don't have the chance to ponder its origins as the men drop to their knees before me. What the hell?

"Ah, that's really not necessary. I'm just…"

"Our king," the other guard proclaims, staring up at me with awestruck eyes. "Come at last!"

"Uh, I'm not…" As I stand there, stunned, other figures begin to appear, moving into position to kneel all around me.

"Sire, how may we serve you? You've had a long journey – something to eat, perhaps? Ale? A hot bath?"

"Rise to your feet," I tell the collection of guards and servants, feeling flustered. "Please. And while you're at it, can someone tell me what the hell is going on?"

A lanky fellow with wheat colored hair scampers forward, bowing low as he presents me with a roll of parchment. I break the seal, perusing the document for a moment before I let out a long, shuddering breath. "Bloody hell… you've got to be kidding me."

* * *

Freshly bathed, stuffed to the gills, and tucked into the softest, most luxurious bed I've ever had the pleasure of sleeping in, I lie awake in the darkness. I'm trying to process it all now that I'm finally alone – up until this moment, I've been fussed over so much that I haven't been able to do anything except say "yes", "no", and "thank you"… the last of which shocks everyone into silence every time I say it.

So I'm king, eh? King Gwaine of Essetir. Well… can't say that it doesn't have a certain ring to it, but I'm having trouble getting used to the idea. Only for thirty days, the parchment said, at which point a suitable replacement will be provided. What the hell does that mean? What am I supposed to be proving while I'm here? Mercy? Humility? Or is it that other virtue which has not yet been named to me?

And how the hell did Olaf manage to get all the other kings to sign off on this crazy idea anyway?

Not that it doesn't have its merits. Hell, wasn't I just noticing how much this kingdom could use a little help? I'd like to think I might be able to do some good here, but what do I know about being a king? I have enough trouble just admitting to being noble, even to my closest friends. Wealth, power, privilege… none of that has ever held much appeal for me.

But then again, that's not the point of being a ruler, is it? Or at least, it's not supposed to be.

In the end – probably because I'm too tired to dwell on it any further – I resolve to do the best as I can and leave it at that.

* * *

"More ale, sire?"

I shake my head, waving the pitcher away. I can't recall the last time I turned down a good drink, but then again, I've never had servants who seemed determined to drown me in the stuff either. This is my first impression of leadership – it isn't surprising that so many kings are useless. Between the constant pampering and endless displays of deference, it takes forever to get around to conducting any business. Hard to remain sober until it gets to that point, too.

But somehow, I manage it, settling myself on the throne as I prepare to meet with my chief advisor. He's an elderly man, mostly bald with a few tufts of white hair sticking out just above his ears. But it's his eyes that command my attention – bright and shrewd, along with a stubbornly set mouth that suggests he isn't the type to stand for any nonsense. Good. Maybe we can get something accomplished this morning.

"What's the first order of business?" I ask him after suffering through a low bow that seems as if it should be impossible at his advanced age. "Any urgent matters to attend to?"

He straightens, giving me a long, measuring look. "Well, sire, I expect you'll be wanting more suitable clothing. Shall I summon the tailor?"

Glancing down at my tunic and trousers, I let out an exasperated sigh. "No, what I have on is just fine."

"Perhaps you'd like to take a look at the royal jewels then? Choose an appropriate crown for yourself, perhaps a nice torque or signet ring? There are many to choose from."

I'm tempted to make a sarcastic reply, but then I pause as an entirely different thought occurs to me. "The jewels… where are they stored?"

"In the treasury, my king. Of course."

"Take me there."

Soon, I'm standing in a massive chamber, surrounded by glittering piles of treasure. Gold and silver, jewels and plate… there's enough wealth in this room to send the senses reeling. Indeed, I'm silent for a few moments, dumbstruck, until I remember my purpose in coming here. Those faces along the journey, all those humble peasants, their shabby clothing and meager farmsteads. Clearly Cenred… perhaps his father before him or even the entire bloody line of kings had no problem amassing a bigger fortune than a hundred monarchs should ever need. And I have no doubt this was at the expense of their own people.

Well, not anymore.

My first order of business is to demand to know the current tax rates, which are immediately slashed in half despite the shocked gasps of my advisors. Next, I request a report on the expenses of the small army that still exists. These are adjusted, with an increase in pay for the men who serve and special allowances set aside for their families, both current and also for survivors of the previous war. What can I say? I have a long memory.

By the end of the first week, I have earmarked various funding projects for improvements all over the kingdom, which have the side benefit of opening up more employment opportunities for the previously impoverished. And while those who serve me directly might think I'm a bit mad, their voices are soon silenced by a generous increase in their own wages.

Next on my agenda is to address the system of justice, which hardly qualifies as such in its current state. Following several inquiries, I discover countless prisoners in the dungeons, often having been shut up for years for such minor offenses as speaking ill of the former king or being unable to keep up with the harsh taxation that marked his rule. These prisoners are released, naturally. And here is a stroke of genius, I must admit – those who wish to serve help strengthen the army. Those who do not? I find a place for quite a few of them on those previously abandoned farmsteads I saw on my journey. The land is theirs to claim, as long as they make it fruitful, which enriches the kingdom as a whole.

Indeed, I'm feeling pretty damn good about myself. Even better when I start hearing the petitions of ordinary citizens, realizing I can do far more to help them than I ever dreamed.

"Sire, please," beseeches a young mother, her blue eyes impossibly large in a face gaunt with hunger. "My husband was killed in the last war, his property forfeited to the crown. My daughters and I have only managed to survive thanks to the charity of my dear old father, but he recently passed away, and…"

"I'm sorry for all the difficulties you've had. What properties did your husband own?"

"He was a baker, sire. Owned a little shop in Willowdale, along with our cottage."

My eyes shift from her to the pair of half-grown girls behind her. They look just like their mother, with long, dark curls and sad gazes that still somehow contain a spark of hope.

"And are you able to operate this business yourself? You and your girls?"

"Oh, yes, sire! Yes! Please, if you'll just give us a chance, we'll pay you a percentage of the profits. Anything you ask, whatever…"

I hold up a hand. "That won't be necessary. Who am I to ask you to pay for what already belongs to you?"

She falls to her knees, weeping, reaching for my hand and peppering it with kisses. And then I understand – this is power in its purest, truest form. The ability to shape the world around me, to change innocent lives for the better. Of course, I've had a taste of that through the knighthood, which was why I accepted the job in the first place. But what I'm doing now is fulfilling on a different level; for the first time, I'm almost sorry this is only a brief interlude in my questing rather than a permanent reality.

But then again, maybe not. I can fill my days seeing to the good of the people, busy and satisfied with my actions. So much that I almost forget the coming night, which never fails to show me how ill suited I am to the life of a king. I have no companionship – those around me accord me with the greatest respect, but there's no camaraderie. No one treats me like an ordinary man, which in truth, is all I've ever wanted to be. It's times like these when I realize how deeply lonely it is to be set above those who surround you. How I miss the other knights, our card games in the tavern and friendly sparring matches. Indeed, I'd give up everything right down to the clothes on my back to have them here now.

And Vivian, of course. I can't wait to see her again, a fact which is made clearer to me with every passing evening. Those who serve me do their best – each night, I'm supplied with no shortage of beautiful women to tempt me. But I look in their eyes and see the gazes of strangers, sparks of desire that exist not for me but for the title I hold and what they might be able to gain from it. I want nothing of that… nor of the rich clothing and jewels that are laid out for me each morning. Might seem foolish when they're mine for the taking, but that isn't who I am. Never has been, never will be.

The last two weeks seem to drag by until at long last, I come to the final night of my temporary kingship. A grand feast is prepared for me – this I'm willing to accept. Roasted boar and suckling pig, half a dozen different kinds of fowl and fine, fat trout, coated with butter and stuffed with savory herbs. There are soft, creamy cheeses, fresh baked bread and honey butter, even an array of fruit filled pastries that look and smell delicious.

I seat myself at the high table, almost faint with hunger as I realize I missed the midday meal. Preoccupied with settling a small dispute between landowners, the thought of food hadn't even crossed my mind at the time.

But just as I'm about to fill my plate, I hear the faint noises of a disturbance outside.

"What's going on?" I inquire as several of my men return.

"Just a group of travelers looking for shelter. Nothing to concern yourself over, sire."

I glance up at the guard as he speaks. He looks none the worse for the wear, which is a relief, but I'm far from satisfied by his response.

"Who are they? Where do they come from?"

"Displaced villagers from the North, my king. None from our own land."

"What happened to them?"

"I… I don't know, sire." He seems confused, as if it wouldn't have even occurred to him to ask. "I think I heard one of them saying something about bandits? Yes, that was it. Not to worry, though – they can beggar themselves elsewhere. No reason to let it disrupt your meal."

I stand up from the table, the food forgotten.

"Sire?"

Not bothering to respond, I stride past him, out of the main hall and through the throne room, satisfied when the outer doors are flung open at my unspoken demand. And they are they are – a small group of peasants, looking cold, exhausted, and incredibly hungry. I scowl at the guards as they move forward to protect me. Protect me? From what? Women, children, old folks… there isn't a single fighting man to be found among this lot.

"Come inside," I say without preamble. Of course, I want to know their story, certainly would like to know if there's anything I can do to help. But for now, that answer seems obvious. They need food. Warmth. Shelter. And I know exactly where they can find all three.

I return to the banquet hall with the bedraggled refugees following at my heels. Turning to face them, I have to hide a smile; they immediately spot the grand feast laid out before them, more than a dozen pair of eyes growing wide as they flicker across the steaming platters.

"Sit," I say, my voice gentle and encouraging. "Eat."

They hesitate, clearly finding it hard to believe I'm serious. Taking advantage of this momentary lapse, my chief advisor hurries to my side with an expression of horror mingled with distaste twisting his wrinkled features.

"Sire, we know you to be a merciful king," he hisses under his breath. "And we honor you for it. But there's no need to sacrifice your own supper – it's too good for them! Allow me to send down to the storehouses? There are plenty of supplies down there, those you set aside in case of famine. I'm sure those will be sufficient; indeed, far more than should be expected."

"Nothing is too good for those in need," I say quietly. "And any king worthy of the title would do well to remember that."

The poor villagers, obviously half starved but still in awe, remain where they stand. I step closer to them, offering my arm to an elderly woman with soft brown eyes. "Come," I urge her gently. "You must be hungry."

* * *

I feel a deep sense of satisfaction as I survey the banquet hall a couple hours later. Not because I'm well fed – far from it. Indeed, not so much as a scrap of food was left in the wake of so many ravenous appetites. But my empty belly is easy to ignore when I glance around at the sleeping bodies, warm and comfortable beneath the wealth of furs and blankets I was able to commandeer for their use.

Will the next king be willing to put the needs of others before his own? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I suppose it's out of my hands.

I can only hope for the best… hope, and remember who I am and what I fight to defend. It's easy to scoff at power and privilege when it's something you've never had, a matter of course to champion the disadvantaged when you count yourself among them. The real test is the one I just completed – remaining true to one's beliefs even when you have the option of choosing comfort over sacrifice.

Two days later, I'm not surprised when Olaf announces – with a sullen expression, mind you – that I succeeded in my quest. It seems the challenge was humility, but I already knew I'd acquitted myself well according to every virtue that might've been under question. I don't mean to sound prideful or self-satisfied, but well, I can't help being pleased with myself. Throughout my brief kingship, I didn't take the actions I did as any calculated attempt to succeed. I did what came natural, what felt like the right thing to do.

Rather less than humble to pat myself on the back for it – don't think I don't see the irony in that. Sometimes it's just nice to be reminded that you really are a good person.

And speaking of reminders…

"Remember what you said about showing your gratitude?" I ask Vivian when I encounter her in the corridor the next day. "What was that about?"

She's positively glowing, pleased beyond words at my latest triumph. Nonetheless, she doesn't answer, just kisses me on the cheek then gives me a coy smile as she turns to walk away.

"Come on, tell me," I call after her. I don't want to beg or anything, but it's been driving me crazy for more than a month. Was it really just a ploy to get me to solve the riddle, or did she have something else in mind?

"Later," she says, her voice trailing away as she disappears around the corner. "If you're lucky."

Just two quests to go… I better hope like hell neither of them has to do with resisting curiosity.


End file.
